The Art of Trying
by elfx9
Summary: When Ste and Brendan starting again as friends coincides with the return of Brendan's father, the painful result lands Ste suffering in hospital, and Brendan determined to make things right. Same story, different synopsis.
1. Chapter 1

Brendan had been different when he came out of prison. So different. Not to the naked eye; to them he was mad and bad when he went in, and mad and bad when he came out. But Ste could see the difference. Even while trying to stay away from Brendan, it was obvious to him that Brendan was tortured, damaged. He was more furious with the world than ever before. He was closed off – more so. Ste often caught Cheryl with her eyes lingering hopelessly on Brendan and realised that even she wasn't getting through to him anymore. It was like he was a wrecked soul of a man.

In many ways this made Ste's heart sink miserably, choke inside his throat with the pain of it. He couldn't bear to think of him like that; soulless and destroyed by whatever went on inside the prison walls where he didn't belong. The other part of Ste pushed those feelings away. He hated Brendan, right? The fact that he didn't kill Rae didn't change anything; he still had to hate Brendan for all the stuff that went on before.

As for Brendan's feelings towards Ste, well they were infuriatingly and typically unclear. He'd told Ste he loved him, only a month before going inside. But once out he barely even acknowledged him. He looked past him, brushed past him. If Ste ever DID find himself watching Brendan, it seemed Brendan only looked further away. Ste had once found himself _longing_ for a bit of eye contact… a bit of recognition or clarity. Then he remembered he wanted the bastard out of life anyway, and decided to feel happy about it.

So it was unclear then why after his shift that night, his feet were carrying him to Brendan's office. He used to tell Brendan that he was clocking off, a while back when in hindsight he was just looking for an excuse to talk, to get approval. Not anymore though. And yet for some reason, here he was.

He didn't even knock, just pushed his way in. And there was Brendan. Hunched over his desk, a bottle of whisky in one hand, an empty glass in the other. His eyes bloodshot from tiredness and that unfamiliar beard looking as dirty and unkempt as when he first got out of that jail. He looked a mess, and the Brendan Brady Ste knew NEVER look a mess. It was disconcerting in a way.

"Wha?" Brendan drooled shortly, never looking up from the drink below him.

Ste blinked, feeling slightly exposed and couldn't think of anything to say but, "A… are you sure you should be drinking all that?"

Ste was sure he could make out some sort of bitter smile under Brendan's fierce expression as he murmured, "Are you sure that's any of your business?"

And that was it. Over. Ste left because he didn't want to look at that anymore, or feel that strange claustrophobic heat in that room as Brendan's anger spread through the walls like a disease. He had to get away from that as quickly as possible. And forget all about it.

He had problems of his own anyway. Big ones at home. Ever since Lee left for New York, not wanting to take the kids away from their Dad, Amy had been treating Ste differently. He knew she resented him for it. Christ knows, she'd been devastated. Lee Hunter may have been nothing more than a plonker in Ste's eyes, but he'd meant a lot to Amy and she seemed kind of lost without him, down. Amy was old beyond her years and already believing that she was past her sell-by date, which was ridiculous really.

But anyway, Lee's departure from her life had led Amy to do some serious thinking: Their domestic situation wasn't normal. In fact, she decided, it wasn't healthy. They needed lives of their own, a place of their own, and less dependence on one another.

Ste had begged and begged her to reconsider, but Amy didn't think they should be living together anymore.

"I love you Ste, you know I do." She'd explained, "But … this … it's not natural. And I think we need to start standing on our own feet a bit. Having our own lives."

And so in that very same week Ste had packed up his bags, and checked into the cheapest B'n'B he could find. Amy said he should stay until he found a proper place of his own, but he found he didn't want to. He didn't want to stay somewhere where he wasn't welcome. And he hated the new awkwardness that came with talking to Amy, once a lover, once a best friend, and now… he didn't know what was going on. She denied it… but he was a burden to her; someone who had made her sacrifice her relationship, and now he was going to pay for it.

So he lay on that creaky B'n'B bed with the startling realisation that he had NOBODY else to turn to. And that made him feel a loneliness that perhaps wasn't so far apart from Brendan himself.

"Ste… can I have a word with you please?"

Ste blinked out of his daze, finding Cheryl standing tentatively beside him, gently brushing his arm as she addressed him with those desperate-looking eyes.

"Yeah." He mumbled, and followed her into the empty office. "What's up?"

"It's Brendan."

Ste sighed. Of course it was fucking Brendan, what else would it be? There was no chance his boss could be taking him into the office to discuss something WORK related, was there? Oh no.

"What?" Ste grunted, in the same impatient tone he'd adopted whenever discussing that ex of his; a topic he was exhausted of.

"Please…" Cheryl spoke quietly, with intense sincerity. "Please Ste, I don't know what else to do. He's…"

And then to Ste's horror, Cheryl's eyes were filling with tears; the very same ones she'd been bravely holding back all these months and now were here for Ste to witness.

"Hey… don't…" he tried. He put his hand on her arm but she brushed him off with typical Brady-pride.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry." She sniffed. "It's just… he won't let me speak to him Ste. I mean… I don't know what's wrong with him; he's drinking all the time, and he doesn't get out of bed and he's… so ANGRY. At everyone. And… please don't tell anyone, but yesterday I heard him _crying_, Ste, I mean really crying when he thought he was on his own and…"

Ste didn't hear what Cheryl said after that. His eyes and ears seemed to go numb, and there was that odd aching in his chest again that he SO didn't want to relate to Brendan, but now it was obvious. He hated the idea of… that. Brendan crying… breaking down… he didn't do that… that wasn't right. Brendan was tough… strong…

"Love, I'm begging you." Cheryl continued. "If _anyone_ can get through to him, _you _can."

"Oh – no!" Ste stammered, backing away quickly as though receiving an electric shock. "I can't."

"Please! Please, I'm _so_ worried about him. He's just not the same and I know you can help him, Ste, if you'll just try. Please. For me."

Ste's head whirled. Not only were he and Brendan history, not only had Ste worked as HARD as he could to get Brendan out of his head… but he was also admittedly fearful of Brendan's current state. Brendan hated the world, and Ste had no doubt he himself was included in that. He seemed like a silent volcano at the moment, about to erupt any second, and Ste was sure that eruption would be aimed harder at him than it would at anybody else.

"Cheryl, he won't want to speak to me anyway."

"Please." Cheryl's voice was small, cracked, dry from tears. "I don't know what else to do."

It was a mad idea. The whole setup was mad. What did Cheryl expect? What was he supposed to talk about? How was he supposed to address it? What was her desired outcome from all this? NO good could come of this at all. It would inevitably end with hurt, bitterness, anger, disappointment… the same way it always did when Ste and Brendan laid down ultimatums. It would stir emotions Ste had locked away deep inside and never wanted to see again. It would undo everything he'd worked so hard on in terms of wiping Brendan from his memory.

It was also ridiculous how heavily involved Ste seemed to still be in Brendan's life – through no fault of his own – when technically the two had never embarked in any kind of real 'relationship' in the first place! By definition, Brendan should be as much a part of Ste's life as ex's like Theresa were. And he wished above all else that that was the case… that he didn't have to hear and speak and think about Brendan every day of his life the way he did. That he didn't have to feel in some way guilty when other people flirted with him, the way he did. That it didn't feel like some ridiculous marriage, only without the sex or love or talking.

And yet he found himself doing it. Checking out of that god forsaken empty, silent B'n'B and heading over to the closed Chez Chez at 10.30pm. Cheryl had given him the key and the promise that Brendan would be there, because "he always is these days". And Ste promised himself that this time no amount of blood-curling tension could make him run. He'd keep his promise to Cheryl. He'd TRY and talk.

And even when he stood before Brendan at the bar, with Brendan's fierce and cold-looking eyes fixated determinedly away from Ste's face, and another whisky bottle in his hand, and the hard silence hammering down on them… he didn't run. He didn't speak either. He got himself a beer and sat beside Brendan… a few seats along, and he too drank.

And unexpectedly in the end, it was Brendan who broke the silence.

"What the hell are you doing here, Stephen?"

"Dunno." Ste decided to be honest. "Cheryl wanted me to come."

"Right. Well. You know where the door is."

Ste sighed. Slowly he rose from his stool. And he got a strange sense of satisfaction when Brendan's head darted to watch him, giving away for a millisecond that that's perhaps not what he wanted.

Ste wasn't going anyway. Instead he moved around to the other side of the bar so that he was opposite Brendan. So that Brendan HAD to look at him, even though he didn't.

"You need to stop drinkin' that, you know." Ste adopted his best tone of casualness. "'s not good for ye, you're goin' for an early grave."

"Yeah, and you read that in a text book, did ye?"

Ste rolled his eyes. "Here, gis' it here."

He made the grab for the whisky. But Brendan was quick. He grabbed it back with surprising viciousness, like jumping out of his stupor. And for the first time in what felt like years, he laid his eyes on Stephen's. And they were intense… furious.

"What the hell are you doing?" He spat

"I'm sorry, I'm just tryin' to help…"

"Help?" Brendan laughed. "_Now_ you wanna help, Stephen, is that what you're sayin' to me?"

Ste swallowed and tried not to sound nervous as he answered a small, "Yeah…"

"You wanna help? Then get out of my fucking sight, alright? Just do one!"

Brendan stared angrily back into his glass with his shoulders rising and falling under the pressure not to swing his fists. Ste knew that, and he knew it only too well. But he couldn't leave. And now it was nothing to do with Cheryl, but with the inexplicable hold that Brendan had on him. The magnetic pull that forced Ste to suffer whilst Brendan was suffering too. That made him unable to let it be, and unable to bear watching Brendan in such a state, and be partly responsible for it.

He was on dangerous grounds. But he wasn't giving up yet.

"You have no right to be angry at _me_, you know." He stated bravely. "I don't have to be here, do I? I don't _have_ to have ought to do with you."

"Oh is THAT how ye feel?" Brendan spat, throwing his chair backwards with the speed in which he jumped out of it. "Well I'm sorry to be such a burden on ye Stephen, but the thing is, I never _asked _for you to come here, did I?"

And by now he was rounding on him, forcing Ste's body back against the wall as he cornered him, fists clenched, eyes wild.

"DID I?" He screamed.

"No!"

"So – get – the – fuck – out – before I do something I regret."

Ste took a deep breath. Brendan's face was inches from his own, seething, hateful. It was too much – too intense. And Ste was deeply ashamed to find tears prickling in his own eyes as he shuffled past Brendan and towards the exit.

_FUCK, don't cry, _he told himself, _don't let Brendan do this to you. _

His insides were boiling; bubbling with emotions and things he wanted to say and things he wanted to scream. But he knew he mustn't rise to it. He mustn't care. If Brendan wanted to kill himself with anger and booze – fine. So be it then. Because any scrap of power Ste fleetingly had over Brendan had clearly been drowned by hate during his prison spell.

"Stephen, wait…"

"I'm SORRY!"

Ste blinked; shocked by his own admission.

And Brendan too, still standing by the bar, but now watching Ste blankly, waiting for him to go on.

Ste swallowed. "I'm sorry…" he repeated again slowly. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Okay? But… what was I supposed to think, Brendan? What did you expect?"

"I expect you to know me better, Stephen!"

And Brendan too seemed to double-take at his own statement. He was surprised by how his own voice cracked with emotion. Surprised that he'd just spoken his first honest revelation of his hurt since stepping out of prison four weeks ago.

The whole bar seemed to be wrapped in silence.

But not fierce or intimidating silence this time. This time all those unspoken feelings seemed to hover around them intensely as they locked eyes sincerely on each other from across the bar.

"How could you think I would do that?" Brendan croaked. "Seriously? SERIOUSLY STEPHEN?"

"I'm sorry!" He repeated hurriedly, willing Brendan not to lash out as he slowly moved back towards him.

"You didn't even give me a fucking chance." Brendan breathed. "You didn't come see me, did ye? You didn't let me explain. I had to sit in that FUCKING cell for three FUCKING months not knowing what the HELL you were doing or thinking. Do you KNOW how that FEELS?"

"No." Stephen confessed weakly. He was feeling weak. Light-headed. And he had to blink back the tears because he didn't want Brendan to know he still had that power to create them. He took a deep breath. "But… I'm not with you anymore Brendan… you can't… I didn't have to visi…"

"You didn't visit cos you thought I was a murder."

"Yeah – BECAUSE I _DO_ KNOW YOU!" Ste suddenly shouted; emotions abruptly surfacing in the shape of rage. "I DO KNOW! I thought you were gonna kill me once, you know! The way you looked at me! Like I was dirt…like you HATED me and yeah, that's what I thought!"

Ste rounded on him, bubbling with long-suppressed rage, with the urge to tell Brendan EXACTLY how he tortured Ste all those times. To make Brendan understand just HOW MUCH he hurt him; how he took Ste's adoration for him and exploited it and used it. How he broke Ste's heart over and over. How he destroyed his trust, not just of Brendan, but of EVERYONE. How he came so close to RUINING him, before Ste found that power to walk away.

"Because you can get so angry!" he continued, "An' you HURT ANYONE who gets in your way, LIKE RAE, cos you can't STAND the thought of anyone knowin' about you! Cos you don't want ANYONE to know about you, or… or US. Even though you're supposed to be PROUD of who you love, you're NOT!"

"Okay…" Brendan coaxed; breathless, surprised… even a little wary of Stephen's outburst.

"And I'm… EXHAUSTED." Ste moaned, and the tears really were showing now but he made no attempt to get rid of them. "And I don't want this anymore! I don't want to keep… to keep gettin'… like THIS!"

And his fist swung furiously and caught Brendan off-guard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards in surprise.

And everything seemed to slow down. Ste panted hard, trying to catch his breath and trying to avoid the heavy scrutiny that Brendan was holding him under right now. Brendan stood shock-still. Just staring. His own heart beating fast with the adrenaline; the aching feelings.

And Ste winced in shock as Brendan moved fast towards him. As though he was expecting a beating… all the way until Brendan had his hands wrapped around his neck, and lips clasped against Ste's. His tongue reaching out needily, meeting the inside of Ste's mouth, his teeth meeting Ste's bottom lip and toughing down tenderly… despairingly.

To Ste, it was the first _human _moment Brendan had demonstrated since his return.

But Ste couldn't let it happen.

He pulled away.

And through tears and numb lips, he mumbled his small plea:

"Brendan… can we just try… try just bein' friends?"

Brendan's face was unreadable, his eyes blank.

Ste swallowed and continued, "Cos… I could really do with a friend right now."

For a moment it was like the Earth standing still around them. Every piece of love and hate and touch and feel they ever shared hovering in limbo in the atmosphere.

Brendan cleared his throat. He sounded almost – nervous. "I er…" he murmured, "I've never been very good at the whole… 'friend' thing. People don't really warm to me, you know?"

Brendan watched intently for Ste's reaction… as Ste's green watery eyes lifted from the floor to find Brendan's face. As his lips formed the shape of a shaky smile. And his shoulders shrugged limply.

"_I_ like ya."

It was like the wind being knocked from Brendan's chest. More so than any of the other mad sentiments Stephen had thrown his way… this for some reason was the most flooring. The one that sparked multiple feelings of gratitude and thankfulness for having somebody like Stephen in his life.

"O…okay." Brendan coughed, covering his own emotions.

He reached out a hand… and Stephen shook it. And Stephen let out a small laugh, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his hoody.

"Okay." He repeated back.

And he was smiling. And somehow – Brendan was smiling too, for the first time in months. Friends. _Friends._ Now this would be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

November quickly turned into December, and the shitty B'n'B Ste still slept in was becoming the poor victim of dampness and cold. Nobody knew he was staying there except Amy; he didn't want the indignity of it getting out really. But for some reason he hadn't done much searching for a flat of his own. Maybe somewhere deep down he was expecting to move back in with Amy and the kids some day. He had dinner there most nights, put the kids to bed, hung out with Amy for a while and then really only used the B'n'B as a place to lay his head and nothing more. It could do for a while longer.

And whenever he wasn't with Amy and the kids, it seemed he was at Cheryl and Brendans. It was funny really. Ridiculous. Now that they had proclaimed themselves "friends", they were suddenly acting more like a couple than ever before. Not in any physical way. But at work they could have a laugh together, right in full front of all the staff and customers without Brendan batting an eyelid. And they'd even hang out together; at bars, after work, at lunch time and just chat about life and nonsense. Or Ste would do most of the chatting anyway; Brendan would do the listening and then the sarcastic micky-taking remarks.

Really, the hanging-out part was more a set-up by Cheryl. With Cheryl and everybody else, Brendan still acted the lost-soul he was when he came from prison. He was quiet, angry, distant. Cheryl couldn't bear it. She couldn't understand why his demons haunted him that way, and worse still, how he found them easier to push aside when he was with Ste. Half of her was jealous and bitter that Ste could do that for him. The other half was desperate for it to continue, and so she was constantly inviting Ste round for dinner, for outings, in the hope that he could _permanently _break Brendan from his stupor.

And Ste found that he loved being friends with Brendan. He wandered why it couldn't have been this way all along, why they couldn't have just cut out all the crap and _enjoyed _being together, like they seemed to these days. He wanted to keep it like this, because this was perfect, and stay this way forever.

There was still that tiny wretched part of him that was screaming for something _more. _But he pushed that side deep down. He and Brendan couldn't be like that anymore. It was never going to work.

And so when he and Brendan lazed on the sofa, darkness wrapped around them, bellies numb with drink, minds relaxed and content with the company they were keeping… and there was that moment. The same moment that often came at the strangest of times; a moment of heat, and tension, where the hairs on Ste's arm stood on end, and his gut churned with a lustful longing. And by the look on Brendan's face, Ste KNEW that he was feeling it too.

And when that moment happened, as it always did, Ste knew it was time to leave.

He stood awkwardly.

"So err… I'll see ya tomorrow then."

"Get in a bit early, would ye?" Brendan drooled, not bothering to get out of his chair and walk Ste to the door. "Cheryl's dead set on puttin' up some Christmas tree at the bar. You've probably got more of a knack for tinsel than I have."

Ste snorted back a laugh. "Will I be gettin' extra pay for it?"

"Ahhh c'mon" Brendan smirked. "I'll let ye put the fairy on top."

So Ste was there, first thing next morning, wrapping tacky tinsel haphazardly around what was probably the grandest Christmas tree in all of Hollyoaks. He needn't have bothered really, because whenever he put ANYTHING onto the tree, Cheryl was right behind him fixing it, moving it and "just making it a bit neater, that's all."

Still, he rather enjoyed the over-generous extra-pay Brendan gave him for his work, which was strictly "between me and you, yeah? Get somethin' for the kids."

And the same day, Ste had an all-round different experience dressing the tree at Amy's. A poor-excuse for a Christmas tree really… a bit sad-looking… but made all so much better by Leah and Lucas running around, tossing on anything they could find including their toys, clothes and kitchen utensils. Most of the actual decorations ended up staying in the box, and the tree ended up looking like it belonged in a mental asylum. Still, it was much better than Cheryl's one at Chez Chez.

"Why'd he give you all that? That's a bit much isn't it?" Amy cried when Ste announced the pay packet he'd received today.

"Yeah, well. I've been helpin' out a lot, haven't I?"

"What, so he's given that to all the other staff as well, has he?"

"No." Ste smiled to himself. "Because we're _mates, _aren't we?_"_

"Yeah, course you are."

"No, seriously. It's been well good lately, you know, hangin' out and that! Cos I'd forgotten how like… how funny he is. And he can actually be well nice when he puts his mind to it."

"Mm hmmm." Amy sighed, and Ste didn't miss how her eyebrows raised in exasperation. She wasn't even _listening _to his reasoning.

"Amy, I mean it!" He continued. "Like, we went to a bar the other night, right? And it was actually _loads _of fun. Cos Cheryl came n'all, yeah, and she were wearin' this massive bow in her hair, and we took the mick of her _all_ night, it was so funny. And…"

"And Brendan didn't expect you to carry on the fun back in his bedroom, no?"

Ste frowned in annoyance. "No. I told you. We're mates."

"Right."

"Yeah, and he's sound with that."

"Okay."

"Urgh!" Ste slammed his hands down on the table in frustration, making the dirty plates rattle dangerously. "I'm SERIOUS Amy! I know what I'm doin' alright? And I LIKE it."

"Ste, I'm not arguin' with you!" Amy moaned. "It's just… you're so blinded by love for him, STILL. And…someone needs to talk sense, don't they? I'm just looking out for you, that's all."

"Well I don't need lookin' out for. And… and I'm not '_blinded _by _love'_! What the hell does that even mean anyway?"

"Nothing." Amy bit. "If you want to carry on being 'friends' with him, that's fine. Who am I to get in the way of the _perfect_ friendship?"

Well it _was_ perfect. To Ste it was anyway. And he could tell sometimes, just by the way Brendan looked at him, that Brendan enjoyed it too. Being together. _Equals_ almost.

They sorted each other out. If Ste was broke, Brendan bought him lunch and drinks. And in turn, Ste helped Brendan in any way he could too. He reminded Brendan to buy Cheryl a Christmas present, and when Brendan groaned about it, Ste went out and got it for him, and wrapped it for him and everything. He wouldn't get much thanks for it, other than a half-arsed grunt of, "Yeah, cheers." And yet they seemed to have reached some mutual understanding that Ste cherished. He LOVED being like this with Brendan. Just friends.

It was on Christmas Eve that things took a different turn. Ste was staying at Amy's back in his old room, because the lodger she had had gone to stay with her parents over Christmas. It was Ste, Amy, Leah and Lucas. Back to normal for a short while. And they had a day of board games and classic Christmas films that were on the telly. They promised the kids they could open ONE present tonight before bed.

And that's when the knock had come at the door.

Amy had answered. And Ste had just heard the muffled, "Oh. Wh… what are you doing here?"

It didn't take Einstein to work out who it was. Amy didn't use the same disdainful tone on _anybody _else that Ste knew of.

"Brendan!" he grinned, sliding up beside Amy at the door. "What are you doin' here?"

"Yep, Happy Christmas to you too, guys. You really need to work on your welcomes." Brendan chided, blank-faced. But as he did he held up two plastic bags, both bulging with large wrapped-up Christmas presents.

"For the kids." He added unnecessarily.

"No way!"

"Brendan, you didn't have to do that…" Amy muttered; more than a little bit uncomfortable.

"Well, you know, I came into some money. Not much to spend it on." Brendan added an awkward laugh; trying to stifle the embarrassment he was quickly beginning to feel.

Amy frowned. "What do you mean you _came into _some_…"_

Ste quickly steered the conversation away from that forbidden route; trying to keep the peace, break the tension he called, "Leah! Lucas! Come see what Brendan's bought for ya!"

Brendan followed him and Amy into the lounge, looking and feeling a little out of place as he squeezed beside Leah onto the tiny sofa and self-consciously handed over the present. He looked as if he was suddenly regretting his decision to come over here, aware of how exposed he now was with Leah grinning up at him, eyes shining with excitement, as she cried "Can I open it now?"

Ste nodded, just as excited. "Yeah!"

"Errr, Ste." Amy hissed, "They've already had one present tonight."

"Yeah I know, but Brendan's here now ain't he, so… Go on Leah."

Brendan chanced a glance at Amy, noticing how irritable she looked by the whole situation. But no chance to take it back now, with Leah already ripping the paper off the package, tossing it all to the floor, and Ste leaning over with eyes just as animated in anticipation. Brendan held back a laugh.

"What is it?" Leah mumbled, disappointed by the grown-up looking box she'd been given.

"Here, give us a look." Ste pulled the box away.

Better save time. "It's a Playstation 3." Brendan explained, slightly sheepish. "And err… you know, a bunch of games in the other one, just… kids stuff, you know."

"A playstation?"

"Brendan, that must of cost a fortune!" Amy gasped

"No." Brendan's face was going slightly red, Ste noticed. "No, no, it was on sale, so…."

"Wh…" Ste was stunned. Amazed. Nobody had spent this much on their family, not ever. "What do you say kids?"

"Thank you Brendan!" the kids chimed.

"Mummy, can we play it _now_?"

"Can we play Peppa Pig?" Leah cried, already ripping open the presents in the other bag; about TWENTY or so playstation games.

"Okay, well…" Brendan stood immediately, brushing himself down. "It's all there, all the batteries and leads an' everything so, er… Yeah. Happy Christmas… etcetera."

"Brendan, thank you so much." Ste breathed, still quite unable to believe it.

"It's not for you Stephen, don't hog it now."

Brendan quickly made his way towards the door with Ste following close behind, leaving the excited squeals of Leah and Lucas as they unveiled Sesame Street Sport and High School Musical Dance-Off.

"Right." Brendan coughed as he pulled open the door. "Take care then, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

And that was it. Brendan was gone as quickly as he came, leaving nothing but the numb shock behind him that he would do something so generous. Even Amy had been speechless, Ste thought smugly. NOW she knew what kind of a bloke Brendan could be; this would show her.

He should have known better.

Because as soon as the kids were in bed, Amy was ripping into him again.

"I can't BELIEVE you can't see through his façade! It's SO transparent Ste! I mean, all this, this must have cost him hundreds!"

"It's for the KIDS. Not for me."

"Oh, it's for you!" Amy snapped. "And it's workin'! Look at you! You couldn't take your eyes off him when he was in here. Thinking he's so kind and perfect as though NONE of the old stuff matters!"

"We're just MATES, right? Yeah. Just like you and me are. Or supposed to be!"

"WE ARE!" Amy shouted. "That's why I'm TRYING to look out for you!"

"There is NO reason why you should be bothered that Brendan did a nice thing for our kids!" Ste yelled. "You're just angry cos you know what you bought 'em won't live up to it."

"Well yeah, actually." Amy nodded, "That _IS_ true. He KNOWS we can't afford to give them stuff like that, he's just showing us up to our own kids."

"Oh, right, yeah, that's why he did it, yeah." Ste muttered sarcastically, slamming the dirty plates into the sink, fists clenched in annoyance.

"No, he did it so that THIS would happen! So that you would fall for him all over again. And I can't believe you're so STUPID that you can't see it!"

Ste spun around, furious.

"Stupid?"

"Well right now, YES."

"Oh I'm not dealin' with this!"

Ste chucked the last few plates in, pulling his hoody from the sofa, heading for the door.

"Ste, where are you going?"

"Anywhere. Away from here."

God knows why he didn't go back to the BnB. Just, walking through Hollyoaks, with all the Christmas lights on and curtains shut in every house, and cosiness on ever corner… he just didn't want to be alone, not tonight. And it was freezing cold, and after a while he knew he just had to get inside… somewhere, anywhere. And he realised he may as well cut to the chase, because deep down he knew from the minute he left Amy's that he'd be knocking on Brendan's door.

Brendan's house was completely silent as his familiar face peered round the door and distorted to shock as he saw Ste standing there.

"Stephen…?" he whispered.

Why was he whispering? The whole place was dark behind him. Intense in its silence.

"Hi." Ste smiled lamely. Then shook himself internally, telling himself to stop being such a coward and come out and say it. "Err… Um…"

"What is it Stephen?"

"I just… me and Amy had a fight."

Brendan swallowed. He looked nervous. "Right?"

"And… well I don't want to stay there tonight, that's all."

Brendan sighed. His eyes shut in exasperation. Fighting something inside himself.

And Ste's heart hammered, sensing he'd done the wrong thing, he'd crossed the line; friends didn't do this, this was stupid, he should just go and save himself the rejection, before…

"Okay." Brendan breathed. "Come in. Quiet."

Brendan stepped aside. Held open the door, and watched close as Ste hesitantly stepped inside. As Ste's eyes immediately traced the room towards the sofa where he presumed he'd sleep… and saw that there was already someone lying on it. A mans figure.

"Who's that?" He asked, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Brendan said nothing, just pressed a finger to his own lips, and beckoned Ste to follow upstairs.

Ste bit his lip. He hadn't expected this. He'd only meant to sleep on the sofa, that's all. But something about the way Brendan was beckoning him made him follow. Brendan didn't want him to be here, in this lounge.

And sure enough, it was Brendans' bedroom that Ste was led to.

He hung awkwardly in the doorway.

"Um…Bren…"

"What?" Brendan asked quietly, removing his shoes and his jacket. "You've slept with me before, haven't you?"

Ste swallowed. "Look, maybe this is a bad idea…"

"What are you afraid of Stephen? It's just sleeping, ain't it? Unless you prefer the street."

Brendan said no more after that. He left his jeans and jumper on and got underneath the bed covers, keeping over to the right side of the bed and shutting his eyes into sleep.

No expectations. No nothing.

So it was strange then how Ste's body shivered with nerves as he pulled back the cover and shuffled in beside Brendan. And even lying back-to-back with him, fully covered in clothes, Ste found it hard to shut his eyes and ignore the intense feeling of being so close. It felt like Brendan's eyes were on his back, even though he KNEW Brendan was asleep and lying the other way. Wasn't he? Ste couldn't take it upon himself to check.

All he knew is that he slept soundly that night. More comfortably than he had done in months.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stephen…"

"Hurhmm."

"Stephen, wake up."

Ste stirred slightly. He was half submerged in unconsciousness; that snug feeling of warmth enveloping him as he took note of the duvet wrapped over his body. The plumped pillows, thick cover, cosy mattress that wasn't his. And then as his heavy eyes peeled open, the sudden feeling of embarrassment hit him as he realised how close to Brendan he was now laying. When had that happened? His face was almost close enough to be buried in Brendans' neck and Brendan was looking down at him with watchful eyes. Ste shuffled away quickly.

"Sorry.." he mumbled, face reddening.

Brendan didn't even acknowledge it. Just spoke plainly; "Stephen I think you should go." Before climbing out of bed himself.

Ste felt his stomach churning in humiliation. Jesus, he'd fucked up. He was so weak.

"Yeah, right, okay." He mumbled

"'s Christmas Day." Brendan continued casually. "The kids will be wakin' up soon, won't they? Wantin' their presents."

"Oh right yeah." Ste had almost forgotten. "What time is it?"

"5.30" Brendan breathed, "You better hurry."

The living room was still tainted with the heavy silence from last night, and that figure was still lying on the sofa. For some reason Ste felt the urge to be even more quiet than necessary as he crept past the mysterious sleeping man.

At the door he turned to Brendan with a whispered, "Thanks… for havin' me."

Brendan nodded curtly, and then shut the door in one quick – almost dismissive – motion.

Outside in the cold, Ste had to shake off that strange feeling of rejection. The hateful feeling of inadequacy. Brendan had done him a favour that's all, and now it was Christmas Day, of course Ste would be in the way if he stayed any longer. Still… some small part of him wished he could have.

What bothered him most was that feeling staying in the pit of his stomach for the whole day, even as he played with his kids and joked with Amy…

He hated himself for it, but that small sick part of him wished that he were back in that bed.

December 27th:

"Oy! Stephen!"

Ste glanced up from stacking bottles behind the bar, his face already fixed into a large grin as Brendan strode towards him from the front doors.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"You and me, poker tonight, what do you say?"

If it was possible, Ste's grin stretched even bigger. "Yeah! Definitely! Lemme just give Amy a call though, yeah?"

"No need, already sorted!"

"Oh…" Ste chuckled, almost shyly "Right."

"Be ready at eight, I'll pick you up from yours." Brendan breezed, already on his way back out the club. Not without adding a semi-aggressive "What are _you_ looking at?" to a incredulous Rhys on his way out.

Rhys turned to Ste, his expression one of pure disgust that he be treated with such disdain, and with such contrast to his fellow barman. It was all Ste could do to stop the smug comments come pouring out.

In fact, that smug feeling of content superiority didn't leave Ste for the rest of the day. Even when he went back to Amy's and sat through her and Dodger shamelessly flirting, nothing could ruin his good mood. His insides jittered with energy and excitement, pre-empting that adrenaline rush that he got from cheating with Brendan, and stealing money from under the blokes noses. He showered, dressed smart, put on his best aftershave, had a drink to get himself started. Nothing could bring him down tonight.

Nothing… until he opened the door to Brendan.

Only then did his stomach drop.

"Oh my God…" he gasped in horror, "What happened to you?"

"Don't worry about it." Brendan sighed. "You ready to go?"

"What happened to your face?"

Ste tried to reach out and touch it: the dark murky bruise that lined Brendan's right eye… the sickly fresh gash that travelled from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, seeping with dried up blood and entangled with yellow bruising.

Brendan pushed his hand away.

"I said don't worry about it." He barked shortly.

"Who did that to ya?"

"Stephen." Brendan breathed seriously. He locked his eyes onto Ste with intense power and control that he still practiced when the circumstances required it. "I said – drop it."

Ste swallowed, instantly silenced.

"Well…" he muttered weakly. "Well are you alright? We don't _have_ to go out, you know, we could stay here…"

"I'm a big boy, Stephen, lest you forget. Now are we gettin' out of here or what?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry…"

"S'alright, lets just go."

The poker game wasn't like Ste had experienced with Brendan before. This time it was in a proper loud bar; no silence for any serious concentration… and Brendan wasn't expecting Ste to cheat for him after all. No, in fact, it was much better. Ste was going to PLAY.

Brendan 'loaned' him £50 to play with, saying if he won any more than that they could split it half and half, and if Ste lost the £50 he'd be out of the game; he wasn't getting any more. And Ste found himself sat around with Brendan and some other blokes Brendan knew from God-knows-where. They were the dodgy types… loud, self-confident, judgemental and arrogant… NEVER the type Ste usually found himself associating with, and yet he felt strong and confident at Brendan's side like this. He was Brendan's mate, after all.

Still, having said that, Ste was out of the game pretty quickly; his confidence getting the better of him, and lost the £50 almost in a shot. Brendan gave him a look that was half-amused, half-disdainful, pulled out some more notes and muttered, "Go get in a round then. Make yerself useful."

Ste walked over to the bar feeling on top of the world. In fact, he'd never felt so much like _someone._ He felt…powerful. When people looked at him, he didn't feel self-conscious but instead he felt GOOD. Like he could do anything.

"Alright?" He breezed casually to some random bloke that was looking at him across the bar. He turned to the barman, "I'll 'ave six pints please ma…"

"Ste?"

Ste blinked, interrupted. He turned back to the staring bloke… who now had a grin on his face… a look of recognition that made Ste's confidence shrivel back inside slightly.

"Urr… yeah?"

"Ste Hay."

Ste frowned. "Who's askin'?"

"Don't ye remember me?" The bloke spoke with a strong scouse accent. He had a strong physique, an air of charisma and self-assurance. "Toby. From the bar. You're Noah's lad, aren't you?"

"Oh." Ste remembered him now. One of Noah's mates; the party-animals who drank beer from chugs and chanted football songs in the pub. Ste had always felt slightly out of the loop with them, although he tried to enjoy it. "Oh right, yeah, how are you?"

"On your own, are ya?" Toby moved closer.

"Er, no. Jus' with some mates."

"Yeah? No Noah?"

"No, we broke up."

"Ah, that's too bad, that's too bad." Though Toby didn't sound surprised OR disturbed by the news. He continued his haughty breeziness as he asked, "Mind if I join ya?"

"Oh…no, sorry, not a good idea. Kind of an exclusive thing so…"

"Oooooh! Laa-di-daa!" Toby mocked him in a posh accent. "I get it! No rif-raf. Don't spare my feelings, please!"

Ste smiled shortly, turning deliberately away to get the barman's attention.

"Alright, I tell you what then," Toby continued loudly in Ste's ear, "Gimme a call when all the exclusiveness gets too boring for ya. Alright? Join the rif-raf for some real fun."

Toby passed Ste his phone, and for a moment Ste wandered what the hell he was expected to do with it. It took him a second to process that he was meant to put his number in, and began to type it hesitantly.

"Sweet." Toby commented offhandedly. "Catch ye later then?"

"Yeah." Ste muttered, unsure. "Maybe I'll ju…"

"Stephen."

It was hard to determine why Ste's heart sunk with guilt as Brendan slid up beside him at the bar. But he suddenly felt very red, caught out, trapped. He shoved the phone back towards Toby like it was hot iron.

"What's taking so long?" Brendan turned to see Toby, looking him up and down. "Oh." He sneered. "I see."

"S'not what it looks like." Ste mumbled sheepishly. "Jus'… a mate of Noah's that's all."

"Alright there, 'mate of Noah's'?" Brendan held his hand out and shook Toby's. "Fancy joining us?"

"Err…no!" Ste protested weakly.

"Don't mind if I do, ta!" Toby gave Ste a confident wink, like they were somehow in this together.

It was like a harsh knock back to reality as Ste took note of just how LITTLE power he really did have… as he was forced to shove over at the table to make room for "Stephen's new mate, Toby".

And Ste was forced to listen as Brendan – for some unknown reason – pretended to laugh at Toby's jokes, and pretended to find him interesting, and pretended to be his mate by letting him play and buying in rounds. Brendan was being the nicest guy in the world, and it made no sense why. He was such a closed-off bastard to everybody back home… and he'd only just met this guy… and Toby was the type that Brendan generally found annoying. Ste clenched his fists tight underneath he table, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and irritated by the whole situation. He downed more and more drinks, letting alcohol numb his frustration, becoming more and more limp and drowsy under the influence. Until eventually…

"Right." Brendan stood up and addressed the blokes at the table. "We should be gettin' off fellas. Leave Toby and Stephen here to get further acquainted."

"What?" Ste jumped up. "No…I'm comin' back with you lot."

"Don't be daft Stephen, the night's still young!" Brendan slapped his back matily. Ste HATED it. What was he PLAYING at?

"Well I don't care, I'm ready to go home." Ste stated stubbornly. "I'm… dead bored."

Brendan turned to Toby with fake sympathy.

"Ahhh, sorry mate." He sung with over-dramatic compassion, "Looks like it's not your night!"

Toby shrugged. "S'alright, mate. Give me a call, Ste, yeah?"

"No." Ste muttered. He knew he was being sulky and immature but he didn't care. Brendan was being odd. He was trying to act like he didn't care, well THAT was more immature than any amount of sulking Ste could do… wasn't it? Unless… unless Brendan really _didn't _care anymore… and if not… why should that bother Ste?

Ste sighed and slumped moodily into the passenger seat of Brendan's car. He was dead confused, messed up, drunk, put out, and he wanted to go home. He didn't talk to Brendan the whole way back, and Brendan wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, so the whole journey was cold and stiff.

Until Ste had to confess something…

"Brendan?"

"Wha'?"

"Um…" Ste swallowed, embarrassed. "You don't have to drop me home… just the bus stop or somethin' is fine."

Brendan frowned. "And why would I do that?"

"Because… because…"

"Speak up Stephen."

"I don't live with Amy anymore." Ste admitted quietly. "I live in a B'n'B up town."

Brendan didn't blink or move or react. The car continued moving quietly forward, absorbed in the darkness of the night and wrapping them in a quiet sanctuary.

"How long you been there?" Brendan asked after a while.

"Dunno. Few months."

"And why didn't you say?"

Ste shrugged. "Didn't think it mattered."

Nothing. Silence again. And after the sour mood Ste had been in five minutes ago, that silence ought to be awkward and tense. But somehow it wasn't. Ste allowed himself to sink back and relax as the car rolled soothingly forward. He felt content and unpressurised in the air of Brendan's presence.

"Hey hold on…" he muttered after a while, "Jus' drop me here, you're goin' too far!"

"I'm not taking you to a B'n'B Stephen, don't be ridiculous."

Ste groaned inwardly. He was too drowsy to be playing games. "Well where then?"

"You can stay at mine, alright? And then you can sort yourself somewhere proper to live."

"I dunno…"

"Just do as I say, Stephen." Brendan sighed, almost irritably. "Alright?"

And so, as always, he did as he was told. For the second time in the space of a week, Ste found himself climbing fully clothed into Brendans bed, letting the warm sensation overcome him as he drowned himself in the bed sheets, and as Brendan carefully moved in beside him.

Again, silence. Neither spoke a word, and Ste felt sure after a while that Brendan must be asleep… and yet Ste couldn't push away that nagging feeling that his drunken mind obsessed over. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, trying to shut his brain off… he shuffled so much it was certain Brendan was getting annoyed at him if he was awake, though he still said nothing.

Eventually Ste gave up; propped himself onto his elbows and looked down at Brendan with a sullen ultimatum.

"Why did you want me to go home with that Toby bloke?"

For a minute he felt sure he was speaking to a sleeping body. Until he heard Brendan sigh slowly. Brendan turned over and sat up, looking Ste derisively in the eye.

"Cos that's what mates do for each other, innit?"

Ste felt a flinch of annoyance that he couldn't quite understand. "And is _this _what mates do n'all?" he nodded down to the bedcovers. "It's _not,_ is it?"

"We…I'm just tryin' to help out, it was YOU who asked to sleep here the other day, wasn't it?" Brendan snapped, "What do you _want _from me Stephen?"

Ste's mind whirred. It tripped and fuzzed under the influence of alcohol, and all those thoughts and grievances he'd had over the past few months blurred together surreally. He tried so hard to think about what it was he wanted from Brendan… why he had problems with things he ought not to have problems with… why they were here and why they were even still _bothering _to get past this mind-fuck. And he just landed at the same sorrowful conclusion that he always did:

"I don't know." He muttered weakly.

He glanced upwards to meet Brendan's eyes and found that right now they were almost scornful. The bloke could do no right, and Ste suddenly felt guilty… apologetic. But before he could say anything, Brendan was turning back over to sleep with a grunt, "Night Stephen."

And Ste was instinctively grabbing him, and hearing himself cry "No wait!"

And then suddenly their lips were pushed together… and Ste's stomach was fireing up with energy… and his tongue was pushing needily into Brendan's mouth… and Brendan's hand was gripped tightly to the back of Ste's neck… and his heart relaxed with the sense of great long-lasting tension being lifted. Brendan's tongue pushed against his… soft but rough at the same time… kissing with a gentle protectiveness that he always used with Stephen but at the same time being daring and lustful and hungry. And Ste felt his body pushing against Brendan's… wanting to be closer… always closer… and heard himself groan impatiently… his hands gripping hard to the material of Brendan's jumper… and just waiting for permission to rip it off… before…

Brendan pulled away.

And Ste's mind pulsed, distorted, confused…. He felt dizzy… desperate…

"You're drunk Stephen." He heard somewhere in the distance. "Go to sleep."

It was like water slipping through his fingertips. And his mouth still felt wet from Brendan's lips, and huge scorching frustration overtook him, and he fucking HATED himself for being like this… and he HATED Brendan for exploiting it. And he HATED Brendan for rejecting him, and he HATED Brendan for being so fucking amazing to him, even though he knew Brendan was just a worthless coward. And he HATED Brendan for not being able to commit, for making everything so hard, for being so afraid, for being so hateful, for hitting him all those times and for making everything this complicated, when it should be so easy. Because he HATED Brendan for loving him, and he HATED Brendan for making Ste love him back. He HATED that love and he wanted it to end. Now.

"Fuck you." He croaked mournfully, and he was scrambling for the covers and heading for the door…

"Stephen, no!" Brendan barked. And Brendan was climbing from the bed too; his voice fierce and desperate and… afraid?

And Ste was heading for the stairs, and he could hear Brendan call:

"Wait! Don't go down there! STEPHEN!"

And he sounded so angry suddenly that it made Ste's stomach jitter with nerves… and he HAD to get out of there because he had fucked it now, and Brendan was furious… and Ste didn't know what he'd done wrong… and all he wanted to do was leave… it was too much… too much…

And as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he realised it was about to become a lot worse.


	4. Chapter 4

_Short chapter this time, just sort of the prologue/build-up to what's coming up._

_Oh - and I'm now spelling it 'Steven'. It seems weird and not as nice but... well, Kieron and Emmett say it's spelt like that, so I guess it is!_

XOXO

Brendan's history had always been a huge mystery to Ste. It was funny really. In many ways he felt like he knew Brendan inside-out; he felt like he could see through him, like they shared so much… and then when he thought about it, they'd actually shared very little. Brendan was closed, even in their best days together. He'd never spoken about his childhood, even when probed. To be fair, Ste had never talked about his either, though he would have done if Brendan had asked. Part of Ste wanted Brendan to know all that stuff – the bad stuff, the stuff he kept secret because he was ashamed of his stepfathers abuse, his rebellious teenage years, which really weren't very long ago at all. He wanted Brendan to know because he felt it was their connection… it was why he understood Brendan and tolerated him more than others could understand. But he never told him. Mainly because Brendan's reactions to things were unpredictable, and Ste had been hurt enough times in the past to be wary of opening up too fast.

Brendan had only told Ste one thing about his past… and that was about his father abusing him. He'd told Ste in confidence… in a shockingly sincere moment of pure honesty. Granted, he'd told Ste to save his own back… but he'd told him all the same. "_I could never duck fast enough." _He'd said._ "Or hit back hard enough. I was always a 'big soft girl', 'poof', 'queer'."_

Those words had haunted Ste. He had wanted to hate Brendan and to stay mad at him forever. He'd wanted to, because that made it so much easier to be apart from him. But his heart ached for Brendan's pain. Despite everything, it tortured him to think of Brendan suffering. It killed him to think of Brendan being hit or hurt. And sickeningly harsh images swam into his brain about his own past; how Terry used to smack him about, scream in his face, hands around his neck, boozy breath washing over him. How he'd cried himself to sleep when he was young, and pushed the pain down with anger and resentment and bitterness.

So yes, he understood Brendan. And he'd gone to sleep that night reeling with hatred… not for Brendan… but for Brendan's father. He hated him like he hated Terry. He hated him _more _than he hated Terry. He hated the man for ruining Brendan, for making him the wrecked soul he was today. He hated every punch, every sneer, every sick hateful comment he'd sent Brendan's way, in days before Ste was even born.

And he hated him now.

He recognised him instantly.

The man who stood in Brendan's living room, invading the home Ste had grown so accustomed to… was Brendan's father.

He must have been in his 60s. Grey hair, skin lined with age. He had a strong stubble outlining a moustache and beard… a Brady thing, apparently.

But what stood out most were his eyes. Piercing eyes. Tough and cold. Eyes that ran down Ste's body, making him shiver. Eyes that had no soul in them, only harsh bleakness. Eyes that lifted to meet Ste's… and clouded over in what looked like hateful recognition.

Ste's heart hammered in his throat. He shouldn't have come down here. He felt disorientated and drunk and dizzy. And all he wanted to do was escape. Because now Brendan was coming down the stairs behind him, and Ste could feel Brendan's rage washing over him without even looking at him. He was cornered between two vicious men, and right now he didn't know who he was more afraid of.

"What the hell is going on?" Mr Brady whispered in a dangerously low Irish accent. It made Ste's blood curl.

"Um…" Brendan coughed harshly. "Da'… this is… Steven. He's err… had too much to drink, he's jus' on his way home…"

Ste blinked back into reality, and turned to see Brendan behind him. He couldn't make eye-contact; Brendan was staring intently at his father, and Mr Brady staring intently back at him. It was like they were communicating to each other without words, and Ste knew he had best not be here at all.

And then things were starting to make sense… the sleeping figure on the sofa on Christmas Eve… _of course _it has been Brendan's dad. And… the sickly bruise that lined Brendan's eye now… that couldn't be… could it? Not now… not as a grown man… never would _Brendan Brady _allow somebody to do _that_ to him… would he?

"Get rid of him." Mr Brady spoke bluntly.

"C'mon Steven, go home." Brendan said in a low voice. He was serious. Deadly serious. No protest… only submission to his fathers order. It wasn't right… Brendan didn't answer to anybody… did he?

Ste's throat was dry. He coughed weakly, trying to clear it, looking hesitantly back and forth between the two men and their silent stand-off. So much he wanted to leave… and yet some part of him didn't trust abandoning Brendan like this…

"Um…" he muttered

"Steven GO. Now." Brendan spat, and that anger he was trying to suppress spilled out gravely as he dragged his eyes to meet Ste's. "Get out!"

"Okay…"

He didn't need telling twice. Ste dodged between them, pulling open the front door hastily, letting it slam behind him. And he didn't stop. He just kept moving… away… as far away as possible… as far away from the older mans hateful eyes… from Brendan's disdain and anger… from the realisation of how badly Ste just fucked up and how much trouble he could potentially have landed Brendan in…

But most of all, away from that powerlessness Brendan seemed to suddenly illuminate. It was a weakness Ste had never seen in him before… a weakness that didn't suit him; that made Ste nervous and afraid himself. Brendan was never afraid, was never submissive… and yet for a split second, he had seemed that he was, back there. It made Ste sick to think of him like that. It made him shiver to think of Brendan with that sort of indignity…

Oh shit, fuck, fuck FUCK. What had he done?

His head and heart and body pounded with a surreal mixture of emotions and memories and regrets… and he keeled over, clutching his stomach, retching over the cobbles as he steeled himself under the bridge. He threw up heavily… alcohol burning his throat as he bought it all back up, and Mr Brady's vicious expression swam around his brain.

_Oh shit, I'm sorry. _He thought desperately; hating himself and his selfishness, and his stupidity. _Don't hate me… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… _

He was overcome with dizziness, and sat down on the pavement, head spinning. It was those eyes... glaring at him… bringing back memories he'd long suppressed. The eyes that ran over his body, critiquing him like he was filthy… like he was nothing.

He sat on the pavement taking deep breaths, head in hands for a long time. After half-an-hour or so, something drew him to look up. And his eyes scanned intuitively across to Brendan's front door in the distance… to see the figure of Brendan leaning heavily against the railings, silhouetted in the darkness.

Thank God.

Ste stood hesitantly, making to walk over to him…

But Brendan shook his head sharply. It was a small movement… Ste couldn't even tell in the dark whether Brendan was directing it at him or not… but something told him to stay away. Brendan didn't want him there, of course he didn't. So Ste stood uselessly in the middle of the road, watching Brendan for some sort of demonstration that he was okay…

But all Brendan did was jerk his head in some weird motion… signalling for Ste to leave, to go away.

And so, as usual, he did what he was told.

XOXO

"Cheryl…"

"Yes love?"

"Where's Brendan?"

It was the Monday at work. Ste hadn't heard from Brendan all weekend… not that he expected to… but he wanted to so badly… to know that he was okay. And when Ste had come into work that Monday morning and NOT seen that recognisable face, his heart had sunk. And he'd waited around all day and STILL no Brendan, and so finally he'd had to ask…

"Oh!" Cheryl said breezily, "He's just having a few days off. Personal stuff, you know."

She made to move away into the office, but Ste followed…

"Well… is he alright?"

Cheryl frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Yeah. Well… as alright as Brendan _can _be anyway, you know what I mean."

"Yeah but… I just… why's he having time off, I mean… it's not like him to leave the club is it?" Ste tried to match Cheryl's tone of nonchalance; he could play the game if she could.

"Well, you know Bren, family first."

Ste licked his lips thoughtfully. "Yeah."

Why wasn't Cheryl telling him about their Dad being back? Why wouldn't she just tell the truth? Ste of all people deserved to know, after all. HE was the one who snapped Brendan out of his stupor, wasn't he? HE was the one Cheryl went to for help. He was the one Cheryl even declared sometimes to be PART of the Brady family. So what now, did that mean nothing?

"So will ya… will ya tell him to ring me?' Ste asked, resorting to slightly desperate tactics, but fuck it, this was more important than his pride. "Just cos… I 'aven't heard from him, that's all. An'… he said he would."

Cheryl sighed slowly… seeming to come to some decision in her head…

"Look love," she spoke quietly to him, "Things are just a little hectic at the moment, alright? I think you should just give him some space for a while until things calm down a bit."

And with that she turned defiantly away. She picked up the nearest paperwork and practically power-walked to the office in her efforts to get away from Ste. But not before he managed to call after her;

"Look, we 'aven't even DONE anythin'!"

Cheryl turned, half in irritation and half in what looked like hidden sadness.

"I know what it looked like but…" Ste stammered, trying to find the right words. "We're… we're jus' MATES! That's all! Nothin' even happened!"

And his body seethed with frustration because, ironically, that was the TRUTH, for the first time ever.

"I know that." Cheryl spoke gravely. "We all know that, Ste. It's _fine. _Really. You just… need to keep your distance for a while. Alright love? Just keep your head down until things settle for a bit."


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay, this chapter is super-depressing, and __**WARNING: homophobic language is used**__. That's all I can say except for... don't loose hope. Please. Lots more chapters to come. _

XOXOX

Keeping out of the Brady's way was easier said than done for Ste. It had always been that way, after all; he could run and run all he liked, but at the end of the day he'd always fall back into Brendan's arms, whether as friends or lovers, in love or hate, it always happened. It was inevitable it would happen again soon, even with his strict instructions not to.

He'd eventually spotted Brendan a pain-staking three days after his conversation with Cheryl. Brendan and his Dad were outside the burger bar eating together; neither talking, both just staring off into the distance in a typical display of Brady nonchalance and detachment.

_Ste, you need to keep your distance for a while. Give him some space until things calm down a bit._

Ste had stewed over those words for three days. What did they mean? What did Mr Brady know? What did he think? Why was Mr Brady's presence preventing Brendan coming into work? Why was it preventing him returning Ste's calls? How long was Mr Brady going to bloody well _stay _for?

Ste knew he ought to stay away. Cheryl had been pretty serious about it, Brendan had made his resistance MORE than clear and Mr Brady… well, he had been obviously seething when he'd seen Ste that night.

And yet, he HAD to talk to Brendan. Brendan was his mate, was he not? And Ste knew ALL about his fathers violent history, and yes, he was _worried _about him. Brendan's Dad made him miserable, always had done. If this was the other way round, he knew Brendan wouldn't hesitate in storming over and smashing the fuckers lights in who made Ste unhappy. Why should Ste not do the same for him?

Because Ste didn't have the guts to stand up to that son-of-a-bitch. So instead he crept over; sheepish, nervous, shy. He hovered nearby Brendan and Mr Brady, reviewing the situation before him: Brendan still had that bruise around his eye, though it was much fainter now. There were no other marks. No other signs of the anger and violence that Ste was afraid of. And… Brendan was looking at him fiercely. His eyes were piercing into Ste's, his message perfectly clear: _go away. _

Ste swallowed, and started to turn.

But why SHOULD he? This whole thing was fucking ridiculous; they were just MATES for Gods sake! Ste hadn't slept with Brendan for… months. Christ, months; since August. Maybe he WOULD have if it wasn't for Brendan's mad inexplicable homophobia that morphed him into a monster at the drop of a hat. The homophobia inflicted on him by THAT MAN. Homophobia that he'd had yelled at him as a kid, haunting him as a teen, submerging his whole demeanour as an adult. The values that made Brendan hate his own skin and hate himself and hate who he loves.

Hate Ste.

All because of THAT MAN. Mr Brady.

Who at this very moment was staring at Ste with those cold piercing eyes.

"Somethin' ye want, is there?" He spoke lowly. Again, his eyes travelled over Ste's body; sizing him up, working him out… his mouth twitching with giveaway signs of disgust.

Ste shuffled uncomfortably under the intensity of the gaze. "I just er…"

"What is it Steven?" Brendan asked sharply. He wasn't looking at Ste; just staring down at his plate, fists clenched tightly around his fork.

Ste swallowed, thinking fast. "Cheryl's askin' for you." He croaked. "At the club."

Brendan glanced upwards, meeting Ste's eyes as he hunted for truth in Ste's words. But Ste kept his eyes locked on the ground. Not helping. Giving nothing away.

"Tell her we'll be there soon." Brendan spoke in a soft growl, just loud enough for Ste and Mr Brady to hear. It was claustrophobic almost… wrapping Ste in all the intensity, fear, unspoken feelings that hovered around Brendan and his father.

"R…right." Ste swallowed.

Well that was something. Just a shred of acknowledgement after their breakthrough of a friendship over the last few months; that's all he wanted. To show it still meant something. That Brendan still remembered.

What he hadn't anticipated was how difficult it would be to look that man in the eye when he and Brendan swanned into the club twenty minutes later. Brendan went straight to the office, obviously looking for Cheryl, while Mr Brady snaked his way slowly towards the bar.

"How can I help you, mate?" Rhys asked him innocently.

Good. Ste didn't want to talk to him, look at him. He didn't want to have to think about that man and the vile things Brendan had told Ste about him. Instead, Ste busied himself drying wine glasses while Rhys had gone about fetching Mr Brady his drink and making strained small-talk which Mr Brady mostly ignored. Because despite all Rhy's efforts to make an impression, there was only ONE person Mr Brady was interested in at that moment. And he cut Rhys off mid-sentence to call across the bar; "It's Steven… isn't it?"

Ste swallowed. His chest felt slightly numb, straining with the angry emotion that he'd learned years ago to suppress. _Take a deep breath. Count to three._

"Ste." He muttered shortly, never lifting his eyes from the wine glass.

Mr Brady took no notice. "An' have ye worked here long, Steven?"

Ste winced in annoyance, grit his teeth sharply. _Just ignore it, let it go, control your emotions, do not let them control you._ "Year or so."

"Aye, and I bet my Brendan's a good boss to ye, eh? Keeps you in line… an' all that?"

Ste's stomach clenched slightly. What did he mean by that? How much did he know and what the fuck was he insinuating? Ste dragged his eyes from the floor to meet the green ones of Brendan's father. The eyes that glistened with the same Irish allure… the glow that made Ste wander whether the man was genuinely charming or taking the piss out of him. The eyes that seemed to undress Ste and make him vulnerable and strip him of all defences, just as Brendan's could do, while they pierced into him with their fierce interrogation.

"He's… alright." Ste muttered carefully. Then added with a touch of impertinence, "Whas' it to you?"

Mr Brady narrowed his eyes. "This how ye speak to all the customers, is it? Or do you and me have some kind of problem, eh?"

"No." Ste answered with sullen sheepishness, "Jus' busy that's all."

And with that he deliberately grabbed one of the empty crates, marching quickly from behind the bar and down to the cellar below. The ache in his stomach lifted slightly, allowing him to breathe again; the fists he didn't even realise were clenched now relaxed themselves.

Only when Ste came back up again did the knot in his gut return, and tighter. Brendan and Mr Brady were standing together at the bar, deep in some kind of private conversation… and then Brendan's eyes dragged over the dance-floor to meet Ste's with an almost vicious-looking accusation.

"Get yer coat, Steven." He said shortly, brushing past Ste with the familiar dismissive coldness that Ste hated so much. "Yer havin' the rest of the day off."

"Wh… WHY? Am I gettin' paid?"

Brendan leant right towards him, hand gripping his shoulder hard as he hissed, "Jus' – do it."

_Just take a deep breath. Count to three. Do not rise to the bait. Do not let your emotions control you. You control your emotions. You are in charge. _

Ste replayed those calming sentiments over and over in his head, breathing deeply through his nose, teeth grit in resistance to those bitter angry tears that threatened to surface. He grabbed his coat roughly, barged past Rhys and Jaqui in his efforts to get the fuck away, do as he's told, get to the door, get away from that fucking arsehole and the warped claustrophobia of the Brady Establishment.

"Steven." He heard the hateful voice call after him as he stormed down the steps of the club. He refused to turn around. He refused to accept Brendan's secret apology. No. Fuck that.

"Steven!" Brendan called again.

"WHAT?" Ste spun around, facing Brendan furiously.

Brendan smirked, eyes trailing up and down Ste's body as he silently mocked Ste's worked-up state. Bastard, bastard, bastard.

And then he calmly drawled; "Don't come back tomorrow either, alrigh'?"

It was like a punch in the stomach.

Ste blinked… for a moment he thought he'd misheard… unable to believe the coldness… the unfairness. Brendan – his so-called MATE. His so-called ex-lover. The man who once professed to love him, and Ste had believed him. After these great last months of companionship, being equals… Brendan was back to treating him like shit.

And why?

"This is so fucked up." Ste seethed quietly.

Brendan continued his dismissive and bored façade as he sighed, "What is?"

"This." Ste breathed. "Him. He comes back an' everythin' goes to shit, does it? You act like a fuckin' big-man and dick-head… even though you don't want to… jus' cos you're weak and jus' cos you want to impress him."

"Is that right?"

"YEAH, COS YOU WEREN'T LIKE THIS LAST WEEK WERE YA? WHEN YOU WERE SLEEPIN' WITH ME IN YOUR BED!"

It was like de-ja-vu. The way Brendan practically threw himself down the stairs towards Ste. The way his hand slapped across Ste's mouth, his arm round the back of Ste's neck, his weight pulling Ste backwards and out of public view. Like de-ja-vu how Ste's heart pounded with fear, with anger, with hurt, with surprise. How Brendan's breath engulfed Ste's ear as he hissed, "Keep yer fuckin' voice down, will ye?"

But this wasn't Brendan anymore. Not really. Brendan wanted to change for Ste… Ste knew that, even if he didn't trust Brendan to actually be able to. He had been willing, not so long ago, to come out, to be open. He'd said so… the day he told Ste he loved him. This wasn't him anymore… this fear of people knowing… he was beyond that. There was only ONE reason they'd be going through this again, and Ste knew damn well what it was.

"He gave ya that bruise didn't he?" He gasped, pulling Brendan's arms away from his neck, panting with the efforts. "Your Dad."

"Ye don't know nothin' boy." Brendan hissed. But that wasn't Brendan's voice. That was the voice of desperation… of fear and weakness and hopelessness. This was the voice of Brendan's shadow; his demon. His dark side; his side that was victim to his Dad's age-long threats.

"Does he know about you?" Ste found the strength to question. "Does he know about us?"

Brendan pushed him away roughly, but Ste found his feet with ease – too much practice.

"There is no us." Brendan breathed. "You made that perfectly clear."

Ste swallowed, hard. His mouth almost tasted like blood it was so dry. "So what's the problem then? What's goin' on Brendan?"

"Jus' go home." Brendan began to move once again towards the steps…

"Don't let him hurt ya!" Ste croaked furiously. "Don't let him turn you back into this, Bren, you're better than this! You're better than 'im! I'm sayin' this as a mate, right?"

"MATE?" Brendan yelled. And then he was back in Ste's face, practically nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, breath-against-breath, fury-to-fury.

"You're not my mate, Steven." He seethed. "Alrigh'? You're a lad who was just a good fuck… an' that's clearly not gonna happen again, is it, so stop kiddin' yerself I'm your friend and go fuck off and fuck some fag, why don't ye? Just leave me the fuck out of it."

And then he was gone.

And Ste didn't even have the energy in him to cry about it anymore. Those words were nothing but the vicious echoes of Brendan's fathers, and it was simply pathetic that they still absorbed Brendan that way they did.

Let him be that man. Let him become the same friendless, lonely, heartless shell that his father was. Once a Brady, always a Brady after all.


	6. Chapter 6

_I already posted chapters 1-7 on another site, so trying to get them out quickly here so that the two sites catch up, if you know what I mean. Hanyways, enjoy _

XOXO

Brendan sat stiffly at the dining room table, back straight against the chair behind him, eyes set hard on the table in front of him. It was three days since his last conversation with Steven… the one where he'd seen the fast wash of anger, then fear, then upset cross Steven's face, and then worst of all – disappointment. And then after that Steven hadn't come to work. Of course not; Brendan had told him not to. Still, it didn't stop him waiting for Steven each morning, expecting to see his face.

It was funny how quickly Brendan had gotten into the habit of going to lunch with Steven, letting him chatter on about fuck-all for the whole hour and then walking back to the club with him... mates. Just small things like that, which Brendan only appreciated now they weren't doing it. Now Steven was back to hating him.

"Where's yer head at son?" Brendans' father spoke huskily across the table to him.

He'd been good… since he'd been back. Brendan had DREADED it when he found out his Dad was coming for Christmas; it had been so long since they'd spoken… they'd never been the closest of family members… and what was worse was Steven being back in his life… not as a boyfriend, but still close enough to bring Brendan discomfort. Then had come the revelation… the sour words his Dad had breathed to him one night shortly after his arrival, "I've been hearin' things Brendan. They talk about ye, back home. Eileen does."

His Dad had never raised his voice… not once. He spoke calmly to Brendan as he threatened to tear those secrets out of him. It's what Brendan remembered from his childhood too – that eerie composure just before his Dad gave him a hiding.

Luckily, it was just one punch on this occasion. Years had taught Brendan to be a smooth liar, and he talked his way out of it with impressive ease, and before the real bone-breaking started. _The rumours were untrue_, he said. _How could his Dad believe for a SECOND he'd be like those sick little poofters? He's a Brady after all._ A Brady.

There were more questions – after.

Who was Steven, and why was he in Brendan's bedroom that night_? He works for me, _Brendan had explained, and he took his employee to the upstairs of his home because _Steven was drunk, I thought Cheryl might be able to deal with him. _

Mr Brady had accepted it, and moved on. But Brendan still noticed how his eyes trailed over Steven dangerously when Steven was near… when Steven was stupid and obnoxious enough to dare come close to them. He was all heart and no brains, was Steven. What did he think he was doing lingering around like that? Brendan had TOLD him what his father was like. And yes, they may just be MATES, but for God sake it didn't take Einstein to notice there was something more than that between them… not ever spoken but constantly hanging in the air. A disease.

"Somethin' on yer mind?" Mr Brady pressed gruffly. He was staring at Brendan seriously… calculating him… trying to see through his well-practiced poker face. Well tough. Brendan was the master at hiding thoughts and emotions. He needed to be with a father like this.

"Jus' wanderin' what costume I'm gonna wear tonight for the Club event." Brendan said with a slight smirk.

His father snorted. "Costumes. For poofs and wankers."

Brendan just chuckled. "Don't talk bout Cheryl like tha'." He joked carefully, "She's been plannin' her costume for weeks."

His father laughed shortly in reply. A fake laugh, for affect only. But not one part of his expression was amused… he was staring at Brendan hard, still anxious to interrogate further.

"Ye get some nice meat in there, do ye?" His father asked, eyeing him carefully, "At the club I mean? Some lookers, are there?"

Brendan shrugged. "Some are alright. If yer desperate."

"And are ye?"

Brendan glanced up from his coffee, eyeballing his father right back with the same calculating precision, and replied, "No. I'm not lookin' for anyone right now."

Mr Brady seemed to take a small breath. "An' why's that then?"

"Cos I love someone."

Brendan blinked… taken aback by himself and his own sudden confession. But the momentary look of surprise was quickly replaced by his old blank expression. Still, inside he was reeling… why had he said that? He was treading on dangerous waters… heading for murky grounds. If he didn't know himself better he'd have thought his sub-conscious had gotten the better of him… screaming to tell this man the truth, to end the bullshit. His conscious knew better. He had to change the subject…

"Anyway da', best be gettin' a move on…"

"No wait." Mr Brady said sharply. He stood up, looking his son straight in the eye. "Ye didn't tell me ye had a girlfriend."

"I don't." Brendan replied with forced breeziness. "It's err… it's history. Nothin' is gonna happen."

"You dumped her?"

Brendan thought about an answer for this. "Mutual realisation that it wasn't worth the effort. Wouldn't work."

"Why?"

Brendan shrugged shortly. "Too much bullshit I guess."

"But you still love 'er?"

Brendan had to think about this too. He hadn't thought about his feelings for Steven like that… not for a long long time. It had hurt too much; messed with his head, his heart, his morals, his common-sense. It had stabbed at him like a dagger; the reason he'd crashed so achingly in prison, wanting nothing more than to end it all, to shrivel away into his own brutal shell where nobody could get near. It had sickened him too much upon his release, to have that surreal wash of nausea when seeing Steven's face again and having to realise how fucking weak he was to be experiencing these emotions all over again, despite that bastard ruining him. And then Steven had suggested they be friends, and for some reason Brendan had tried hard to make that work… so hard in fact that he pushed aside his feelings, and tried desperately to never think of them again. It was better like this.

So why then had he admitted it now? _I love someone. _Where had that come from?

"You do." Mr Brady whispered. "Even though she's not worth the effort."

Brendan didn't reply. No point. What did it matter now anyway, and particularly talking to THIS MAN about it, whose only reason for the conversation was to pick out Brendans' weakness.

And now he had.

"Don't be a pussy, Bren." He snapped harshly. "Fuckin' get over it."

XOXOX

Music blasted from Chez Chez; Rock'n'Roll Night kicking off to a good start with the sudents swarming in in their packs, all dressed to the nines as rock and roll legends. Cheryl swanned about, loving it, glammed up in her best adaptation of Elton John as she greeted the customers, charming them with her contagious energy.

Ste had come with Michaela and Amy who'd both opted for the theme of 'groupies' rather than 'rock stars', and insisted on Ste dressing as a young David Bowie, even painting the iconic red streak across his face. Ste had found the role quite appealing actually… anything to avoid their first suggestion, which was Pete Townsend. That wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to be giving Brendan any more leverage for his recent return to homophobic comments. Not that Brendan was likely to be there anyway. And… not that Ste cared whether he was or not.

And then, as the drinks poured, Ste found himself covered with Amy's kisses, leaving big red lipstick marks across his cheeks which she insisted he keep on for the night.

In fact, Amy was doing a damn good job of playing groupie, Ste noticed. She chatted up almost every guy in there, flashing glances back to Dodger as she did; some scheme obviously forming in her mind. Michaela found herself some Jimmy-Hendrix-Wannabee and spent half the time with her tongue lodged down the poor fellas throat. And when she wasn't doing that she had Ste round the neck, insisting they found him some bloke too.

Still, he didn't mind. He was having a good time. He didn't even mind when he spotted Brendan in there, rolling his eyes as Cheryl threw him the "oh, you've come as Freddie Mercury!" gag, despite him having made no effort to dress up whatsoever_. Spoil-sport_, Ste thought bitterly. And when he caught Brendan's eye across the bar he made particular effort to turn away, to dance casually with whoever was nearest to him – in this case some random guy dressed as Mick Jagger.

The guy grinned at him. "Alright Bowie?"

"Oh…" Ste chuckled slightly; he wasn't too hot on pop-culture but he recognised the connection in this case. "Yeah. Jagger."

"Manchester is it?" The guy called over the music.

Ste didn't get him at first. The drink was obviously slowing him down somewhat before he realised the man was referring to his accent. "Oh! Yeah… an' you n'all?"

"Yeah, just moved 'ere last week actually."

"Oh." Ste nodded. He felt shy for some reason though couldn't exactly tell why. Still he continued, "You like it then?"

"It's alright, yeah. This place is good."

Ste smiled, a sense of pride filling him. "I work 'ere." He announced, "Usually, you know. Night off."

"Sweet. The drinks are on you then?"

"Yeah." Ste chuckled. Then blinked, double-taking. "Oh… do you wanna drink?"

The bloke laughed, his minty breath blew across Ste's face and it was the first time he realised how close they were standing.

"No, don't worry mate, I'll get 'em." The guy called. "What you 'aving?"

"Um… just a pint please."

"Comin' right up." He winked and started heading towards the bar before turning back and adding, "Oh… I'm Lewis by the way."

"Ste."

Ste watched Lewis go, swigging back the end of his drink nervously. Was that guy flirting with him? He couldn't really tell – Christ, he was more drunk than he thought. Perhaps he should leave…

But as his eyes trailed across the bar and met Brendan, he changed his mind. Brendan was standing alone in a corner, supposedly surveying the crowds, but he was unmistakably looking RIGHT at Lewis. Ste recognised that look anywhere… it was the same way Brendan looked at Noah… angry, jealous, bitter. Ste felt a surge of satisfaction. Serves him right.

The music got louder, the dance floor got wilder, the surroundings hotter. Ste jumped up and down wildly, driven by Lewis's wild enthusiasm, by his own drunkenness. The drinks kept coming and coming until Ste was no longer aware what he was drinking or where the fuck they were coming from… only that he wanted to keep dancing, keep moving, keep smiling. Faces constantly weaved in front of him, shouting things over the music to him… Amy with a massive grin on her face, then Michaela with a cheeky wink and a nod of the head towards Lewis. Lewis with his big grin, free spirit. The music got louder and louder until it was POUNDING, taking over Ste's whole body, vibrating inside his chest… until the whole room was blurring… spinning… faces merging and screaming around him.

Words echoed inside his ears, "Wooaahhh… take it easy, mate!" But he didn't want to take it easy. It was like his body was out of his control. His arms were limp like he couldn't feel them… it was liberating. He spun them wildly, not caring who he crashed into. Then the music would dip, and sound far-away and distant for a moment as Ste was submerged in his own world… then it would come back, BLASTING. Ripping his head open with its angry volume.

"Ste… you okay?"

The voices in his head were all distant and far away. The faces in front of him were blurred and distorted. They didn't matter now. None of this mattered. He couldn't feel THIS… the world anymore. It was just Ste, in his own head, pulsating with the beat. All smell and feel and sound had gone… replaced by numbness. By nothing. Liberating lack of sensation.

"Wooaaahhh…" someone called. "Shit, Ste mate, you alright?"

Course he was alright. He was fine. Nothing mattered… nothing hurt. The music was all blurring together to form one constant noise… like screaming… like a loud piercing in his ears… and his body was moving but he couldn't feel his legs carrying it… and then cold air hitting his face…

"Lets get you outside, c'mon…" the voice was saying softly.

Frozen air in his lungs, down his throat. It was the only sense he could take in right now. He felt his head against hard ground, but it just felt asleep… like all his body parts were sleeping… like his mind was dreaming.

"Where do you live?" Someone was saying. "Do ya live round 'ere?"

Ste sighed softly. He let his eyes drift shut so nothing but spinning colours rushed through his tunnel of consciousness. The gentle thud-thud-thud of his own beating heart. The cold wetness of his lips as he licked curiously. Felt nice.

More voices were talking now… conversing softly… distantly.

"C'mon lad…" one said. "I'm takin' ye home."

"You sure he's gonna be alrigh'?"

"Ye, he doesn't live far."

"Alrigh'. Tell 'im to call me, yeah?"

"Will do, aye."

Ste vaguely was aware of his feet lightly hitting ground, but they certainly weren't carrying his weight… someone else was. He just let himself fall limp and allowed it to happen…


	7. Chapter 7

_This chapter is quite disturbing and contains homophobic views expressed through the character of Mr Brady. I really hope none of this offends anybody; the character is scum and obviously none of the views are my own!_

_XOXO_

He couldn't remember much. Vaguely he could remember a car… the low hum of the engine, the fast-moving shapes and lights that soared by the window. He could kind of remember a mans voice… humming along to the radio… though that could equally be a dream. Hazy recollections swished in and out of his brain… of dancing… of drinking pints… _c'mon lad. I'm taking you home, _someone had said. That was someone Ste had haphazardly given all his trust to… had slumped into that persons arms… had allowed that person to lower him into the back of the car… to drive with him… _where are we goin'? _Ste remembered himself asking. Or had he just thought that? He didn't remember getting an answer.

And now, the next morning, he was here.

His head was pounding, his mind was racing, he felt dizzy as he looked around the strange room he was lying in. It was pretty much empty save for a haggard looking television set, coffee table, and the sofa that Ste was slumped on. His initial thought was uneasy. How the hell had he got here? Why couldn't he remember? Who had bought him here and how would he get home?

He fished clumsily in his jean pocket for his phone. Shit. It wasn't there. He must have dropped it in the club, Christ, how did he get so drunk? He'd only had a few drinks – it didn't make sense.

"Oh, you're awake."

Ste froze. Because more than any of the bizarre events that were running through his head… that was not a voice he welcomed hearing. The lazy Irish drawl… the crisp husky sound of old age…

Brendan's father walked casually into the room, a cigarette between his lips and holding out the packet for Ste to help himself. Ste ignored this.

"Where are we?" He asked uncertainly.

"A mates house." Mr Brady answered simply. "I didn't know where ye lived."

"Oh right…" Ste muttered, licking his lips, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"Ah, to be young and drink yer liver away." Mr Brady smiled, but it didn't show in his eyes. It was fake. For show. "Have a cigarette, Steven."

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

"I said… have one." Mr Brady spoke with dark authority that reminded Ste of Brendan… only worse.

Ste reached and hesitantly pulled a cigarette from the pack. He looked at it uncertainly. What was going on here?

"What are ye scared of?" Mr Brady asked.

Ste shrugged, "Cancer an' stuff."

"You don't need to worry about that, lad, believe me."

Something about his tone unnerved Ste. That and the way his eyes hung on him unwavering… like piercing daggers with their harsh intensity. And where was this 'mate' whose house it was? Why had Mr Brady bothered bringing him here?

Ste swallowed. "I better be gettin' off now… um, thanks, for… you know."

Ste stood up, ignoring the ache in his head and nausea in his stomach as he did so. Holy shit, that was some weird pint he'd drunk. But as he made a move towards the living room door, Mr Brady pushed a hand against Ste's chest… holding him rooted to the spot.

"Ye haven't smoked yer cigarette yet."

Mr Brady flicked the lighter. The flame flickered inches from Ste's face, hypnotic almost.

"Besides," Mr Brady breathed quietly, "I wanna talk to ye."

Ste took a hollow breath. He didn't like where this was going. He HATED this fucking man and he didn't know how much self-restraint he had not to bring that fact to the surface.

Still, something made him sink back down onto the sofa. He tensed slightly as Mr Brady sat beside him… the size forcing them too close together for Ste's comfort. Mr Brady took the cigarette back, lit it, and then handed it to Ste, who inhaled lightly.

He coughed, feeling the sharp sensation of smoke at the back of his throat.

Mr Brady sniggered. "Can't handle a drink, can't handle a cigarette. What _can_ ye do, boy?"

_I can throw an alright punch when I want to, you bastard, _Ste thought bitterly. But before he could even think of a more suitable reaction, Mr Brady had hold of Ste's wrist. He lifted the cigarette back up to Ste's lips, and spoke gently, "Take it down to yer chest. Inhale softly… let the smoke go to yer lungs."

Ste did as instructed. God knows why, but obviously this was important. Again, he coughed; the vile flavour corrupting his taste-buds.

Mr Brady snorted in amusement, before taking a long drag of his own.

"You know once…" He spoke slowly and carefully, "When Brendan was a teenager, I caught him smokin' with some mates up town. Gettin' closer to death one drag at a time, right?"

Ste was still for a moment before he realised he was expected to answer. He shrugged limply. Why was Mr Brady talking to him like this? He just wanted to leave.

Still Mr Brady continued. "I made him eat the whole pack. Every last one. An' he never smoked since."

"Oh." Ste muttered. What else could he say really? He couldn't work out for the life of him where this was going. And Mr Brady was moving closer to him, so close that Ste could smell his breath… so close their knees were nearly touching, and Ste's hovered awkwardly.

"Course, when Bren was a teenager you were still havin' yer nappies changed." Mr Brady spoke.

"Hm." Ste replied weakly, "I guess."

"By the time puberty 'ad him scoutin' with his cock, you were still feedin' off yer mothers tits, ain't that right, Steven?"

Ste licked his lips. He didn't like Mr Brady talking like that. With an almost vicious-sounding crudeness. With the light suggestiveness that made Ste shiver.

"Look I really should be goin' -"

"Stay where ye are. I said I wanna talk to you."

Ste froze, staring straight ahead, heart starting to beat hard with rising panic and anxiety. He didn't like the way Mr Brady was looking at him. He didn't like the suggestion of conversation… didn't _want_ to talk to this man… didn't want to say anything that Brendan would later hate him for. What did he WANT? Why couldn't Ste just leave?

"Tell me about Brendan." Mr Brady said matter-of-factly.

Ste's heart rose, hammering in his throat. "Not much to say really. He's me boss."

"Generous boss."

"How do ye mean?"

Mr Brady pulled something from his pocket. A small slip of paper… what looked like a receipt.

"£365 spent on 19th December at Dixon's on a playstation3 and 30 childrens play station games, now that's real interesin' isn't it?"

"That's nothin' to do with me."

"No? That's weird cos… I was under the impression from your Amy that that's the present little Leah and Lucas got for Christmas."

Ste's throat went dry. His palms felt cold and sweaty at the same time. How did this man know Amy? How did this man know Leah and Lucas? Why was he speaking like this, with such cold calamity even though Ste could practically FEEL the anger bubbling fiercely through the air in the room.

"You're not gonna tell me that's a coincidence, Steven, are you?"

Ste shrugged. What else could he do? What else could he say? His mind raced, looking for excuses, but he couldn't find any… he was too overwhelmed with alarm.

And then Mr Brady was pulling out another file. It was stored underneath this very sofa. A large black book… 'Chez Chez' written on the front of it. Ste swallowed, baited breath waiting for the worst.

"Lets see." Mr Brady breathed. "Week of July 19th 2011… Jaqui… £218 + tips. Rhys… £218 + tips. Steven…" Mr Brady looked up, his eyes calculating. "£290 + tips."

Ste took a deep breath, DARING to meet those eyes, "I worked more hours than them."

"Except you're lying. And I know you are."

"I'm not." But even as he said it, Ste's voice felt weak and rasped, overcome with nervousness.

"Why does Brendan do this stuff for you?"

Ste was silent. He looked determinedly at the floor. _Just say nothing and he'll go away. _

"Why does he care so much about _you_ that he'll spend more money than he's sendin' over for his kids, eh? Why does he risk lookin' at ye like that… right in front of everybody? Right in front of me, eh? Why does he do that?"

_Just say nothing and he'll go away. Just say nothing and the interrogation will end._

"Why does _my son_ love ye, Steven? Why _you_?"

Ste's insides shrivelled in cold hard nausea. It was the same feeling he got when anyone ever dared to mention Brendan's 'love' for him… the feeling of claustrophobia, panic, confusion and adoration, all wrapped into one warped sensation. The need to run a mile and escape this dangerous trap, but also to revel in the knowledge that the man Ste loved loved him back… was _his. _And people knew it.

Mr Brady knew it.

And that was not good.

"SPEAK TO ME!" Mr Brady's voice shook off the walls in his intense fury. His disgust.

"I dunno." Ste croaked hurriedly.

No point denying it, was there? Mr Brady knew. And by the sounds of it he'd known a while…he'd done his research…he'd reached all the right conclusions. Now he just wanted explanations.

Now Mr Brady stood, and he stared down at Ste with eyes that reflected no more than pure revulsion. Pure hatred, as he spat the words:

"Has he fucked you?"

Ste felt distant tears prickle numbly in the back of his eyes. Oh shit. His stomach churned with humiliation, fear and guilt… he was letting Brendan down… he was acknowledging Brendan's biggest secret to the man who Brendan was most afraid of knowing.

"C'mon, I wanna know!" Mr Brady spat. "Has he fucked you?"

He didn't know what to say. It was liked the walls were closing in around him, torturing him, making him feel small weak and stupid. Whatever he said was going to get him in trouble. Whatever he said was going to make this whole situation worse. He felt his face and collar reddening under the force of the accusation… the humiliation of the suggestion… the shame at the way Mr Brady was looking at him.

Ste's silence spoke more than a million words.

Mr Brady laughed in harsh contempt.

"An' ye like that, do ye?" He mocked. "Make ye feel good, does it?"

And to Ste's further embarrassment he felt tears dripping from his eyes; tears of shame he knew he ought not to feel, and yet he couldn't bear the way that man was observing him…like dirt.

He wiped his eyes hastily with the back of his hand and found smeared red paint there… the face-paint and lipstick marks from last night were still smeared all over his face; messed up by sweat and tears. He must look a right state. Pathetic. Vulnerable.

He didn't want to look like that in front of this man; he wanted to stand up and be strong and fight for himself and for Brendan and everyone else this man held in contempt.

But Mr Brady was circling him like a vulture, scrutinising him like a bird watches its prey, and asking quietly, "What is it about YOU that makes my son want to fuck a lad?"

Ste swallowed, shakily finding his voice; "Brendan liked men before he met me."

"He wouldn't 'ave bought that shame on the family."

"'s no shame in it."

"Is that right? Why ye cryin' then?"

"COS YOUR FRUSTRATIN' ME!" Ste shouted bravely, fists clenched in nerves and anger.

"Don't speak to me like tha' you little fag!"

Ste rose to his feet, meeting Mr Brady's eye with the last piece of nerve he possessed. "You're pathetic if you can't even accept yer son for wha' he is!"

"Me, pathetic?"

"YES!"

"I'm not the one bendin' over like a bird for a bloke who wants nothin' more than an easy fuck and a punch bag, son."

Ste shook his head, hands rising subconsciously to cover his ears; he didn't want to hear this; it wasn't true, this man was scum.

"Look at yerself!" Mr Brady mocked, "'love me, Brendan, love me'. If that's not pathetic I don't know what is!"

"Shut up." Ste muttered, voice growing faint, hands beginning to shake.

"What the _hell _could he possibly see in _you?" _Mr Brady hissed. "Yer a mess. A queer. You're a waste of fucking space, Steven"

"Shut up…" Ste repeated weakly, words flooding back to him spoken by Terry, by his mum, by Amy's folks and anyone that ever had anything to do with him… _waste of space. Useless. Pathetic. _

"I'm not gonna let you contaminate my boy anymore." Mr Brady spoke calmly and clearly, watching Ste pace with unwavering eyes. "You'll be havin' nothin' more to do with him."

Ste turned… his watery eyes meeting Mr Brady's cold ones. And then he heard it. The sound of footsteps coming closer… moving into the room… the figures of four older men… moving in on him.

His heart raced…his blood ran cold. He couldn't even make an objection before a hard hand was gripped to him mouth, and his head hit the ground hard.


	8. Chapter 8

_Just a short chapter this time, which is just as well because it's very violent, sorry folks. :(_

_xoxo_

His head rushed; disorientated, dizzy. The hand that was clasped around his mouth was sweaty and rough… making it hard to breathe. And then a fierce hard foot against his ribs… a crack… mind-blowing pain as Ste tried to scream, but his voice came out rasped and breathless, his stomach closing in on itself, chest heaving with the agony. And his mind raced, bringing back sour memories, sick reminisces of similar pain…

_Brendan's face inches from his own, eyes flickering with that familiar mixture of anger and lustfulness. Ste's heart hammering nervously as he backs away slightly… waiting for the punch or kiss but never knowing which it's going to be. But this time is different. Brendan kissed him in that club…in front of everyone…there doesn't have to be secrets anymore which means there doesn't have to be pain… they can end this… they can be together. _

_Then Brendan's mouth against his, pushing him, leading him to the bedroom. Ste allows himself to be guided backwards, already ridding himself of his own clothes as his skin boils with passion and desire. It's been too long. He's been craving this deep down. He wants Brendan and he wants him badly. This is it now. This is finally happening for them._

_Ste is pushed back onto the bed, and Brendan is pulling off his t-shirt, then his trousers, and Ste allows himself to lay bare in front of him. He can't think straight – all he can see is Brendan's eyes scouting over his body, arousing him with their intenseness. Brendan takes all of Ste in, eyes glazing over his mouth, his chest, stomach, hips and groin._

"_Please" Ste whispers hoarsely, pulling him closer, bringing their mouths to meet again, taking in all of Brendan's scent, his familiar kiss, the roughness of his tongue. He tries to pull off Brendan's clothes, but Brendan clasps his wrists tight, holding them down. He kisses down Ste's body. His lips wrap around Ste's cock. And Ste gasps – in ecstasy, mind and body pulsating. He wants this so bad. He needs this. _

_Brendan teases him until Ste's body is squirming in anticipation, rising off the mattress as he arches up for Brendan's touch. _

"_C'mon…" Ste croaks breathlessly, and Brendan finally frees his wrists… allows Ste to relieve him of his clothes until they're both naked, pressed together, panting, kissing, touching, holding. Ste's legs wrap over Brendan's shoulders as he urgently tugs him closer, "C'mon, c'mon…" he mutters incoherently. _

_Brendan is quick with the condom. Quick to position himself over Ste so their faces are inches apart, their chests beating hard against each other, Brendan's hands gripped possessively to Stephen's thighs, he pushes in. _

_Ste gasps; the feel of Brendan penetrating inside of him… it's been too long… and he's in ecstasy as he rocks against the man, hands raking through Brendan's hair, allowing Brendan to fill him, to wrap him completely in Brendan's hold, to take possession of him. He is Brendan's. Will always be Brendan's. He sees that now. _

And then Ste was pulled to his feet, body shaking under the pressure on his ribs, his hands flailed out blindly to stop the attackers… whoever they were… he could only see spots and brightness. He couldn't even yell for them to stop… his chest didn't have enough air. The next thing he knew, rough hands were pulling at his hair, another pair around his neck and a fist caught him hard by the side of the head, knocking him sideways into the arms of another assailant.

_And Ste can't breathe… can't think… too overwhelmed with confusion and terror and trauma as Brendan pushes him hard up against the wall, face full of venom. This Brendan is the opposite to the one he made love with, just one hour earlier. And this isn't supposed to happen… not now…not again… things are supposed to be alright now… they're going to be together… why won't Brendan see that? Why does he hold Ste like this and allow Ste to cry with such coldness?... Like he's possessed. _

"_Don't!" Ste cries out… but it's too late, Brendan's fist meets with his face… and the power of it sending Ste to the floor, shaking. The pain is immense – but nothing compared to the uproar inside of him. The trauma of it happening again. Again. The sickness of this being Ste's own fault… for crawling so pathetically back to the man who abused him. The despair at his own stupidity… at his own hopeful delusional belief that things would be different this time. The sheer mortification at the way Brendan looks at him now, with so much anger, with so much disrespect for the way Ste THREW himself back into his powerful arms. He's so stupid. Why is he so stupid? _

_He can't even meet Brendan's eyes now. He can't bear the pain of it – to know how Brendan feels in moments like this. To know that, despite everything, Brendan is hating him. Hating everything he stands for. It makes his insides freeze with such intense hurt… he just wants to crawl away… to get away from this…_

_But Brendan's not finished. He paces. Wild-eyed… like a mad-man. So conflicted, so torn, so angry, so resentful… so confused. Brendan burns with loathing… he wants all this to end… to stop happening to him. To end the feelings Steven makes him feel._

_Ste doesn't even have time to flinch before another brutal fist catches him hard in the jaw. The force of it sends his head back… his forehead hits the side of the table. Pain scorches through him. Blood drizzles sickeningly from his lip; the taste of it like the taste of failure… of misery. The gash in his forehead drips blood which mixes with sweat, and then falls to mix with tears, as he struggles to breathe through pure hard sobs. _

_Brendan is just walking away from him. His shoulders are rising and falling, his body visibly shaking, and then he's gone. The man who touched Ste so tenderly… as if he loved him… and now reduces him to THIS. Ste hears the front door slam, and he knows he's been left well and truly alone. But he doesn't move for hours. He just crawls into himself, knees clutched to his chest, and feels his heart ache harder than his bruises. _

"STOP!" Ste manages to choke out through rasped breaths, as another punch in the stomach has him keel over… held upright only by one of the men's strong arms around his neck.

"What's the matter, Steven?" Mr Brady's voice droned over the sound of Ste's hard gasps for breath. "Thought you liked it a little rough?"

Ste felt sick with anger, with pain, injustice. But mostly fear. He wasn't getting out of here. Another punch in the gut and he was on the floor. Then scorching pain in his fingers – a distant-sounding crack as boots met bones and broke them in half. A kick to the head and he could hardly see anymore; so blinded by pain. He heard himself scream out, but it just sounded far-away and distorted. He tasted blood. He couldn't move. But they continued. The last thing he remembered was his own screams of agony, before everything faded to blackness. His body lay limp and motionless and took four mens merciless kicks and punches, until the skin beneath the blood and bruises was barely recognisable anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

_Finally posted all the chapters here that I've written so far, so is all up to date! _

_Warning: one case of very bad language._

XOXOX

Brendan hated hospitals. Really fucking hated them. He hated the smell of them, the ambience, which was usually eerily calm even though people were dying around them. He hated the white institute walls, the low hum of people talking; fearing for their loved ones. The way people looked at him when he sat in the waiting room, with fake sympathetic glances… he just wanted to smack that pity right out of them. It wasn't _him_ who needed it, after all.

Amy was there too. She sat on the other side of the waiting room, face white as a ghost, hair unwashed and hanging greasily down her shoulders, bags under her eyes. She jiggled her phone about nervously in her hand even though it was switched off. She's barely breathed a word to Brendan all day, which didn't surprise him really. The only thing she'd said to him had been that morning, when Brendan had burst through the doors, scanning around for someone recognisable – anyone. And Amy had come up to him, face stained with tears:

"It's worse than I thought… they've put him on life support, Brendan."

They hadn't been able to see him all day. Just sit in this godforsaken waiting room, and do exactly that – wait. Wait and ponder and wander how the fuck they'd ended up in this situation. And pray, of course. Brendan had never exactly been a model catholic, but he knew praying might help him… HAD to help him… when there was so much at stake… Steven at stake.

"Miss Barnes?"

"Yes?"

"I'm PC McCormick… I'm investigating the cause of Ste Hay's injuries."

"Oh right. Yeah. Hi."

"We've already been given witness statements from several people from the Chez Chez nightclub event two days ago… that is when you last saw him, is that correct?"

"Yeah." Amy breathed shakily. "Yeah… around 1.00. But… I left before him."

"Okay, and does Mr Hay have any enemies that you know about?"

"No!" Amy ran her hands through her hair, tears filling her eyes again. "No, they already asked me this, and he doesn't!"

"And there's no way he might have gotten himself involved in drugs, or any other…"

"No! Definitely not. No. He's a _Dad_."

"Okay." The officer spoke softly, but it was clear there was cynicism behind her voice. Brendan clenched his fists tightly.

"Please." Amy whispered, "Is he going to be okay?"

"That's not for me to answer, I'm afraid." Again – the soft voice. But it was fake. FAKE. This officer didn't care about Steven. Steven was just another in a long list of people who'd gotten themselves beaten up. The ones who got on the wrong side of drug gangs or loan sharks. But this woman didn't realise Steven wasn't like them. She didn't realise what Steven was like; so sweet and eager and ready to prove himself. He wasn't a bad person. He was Steven. And he never, NEVER deserved this.

"And what do you know about Lewis Robson?" The officer continued.

Amy blinked, confused. "I've never heard of him."

"We have witnesses who say he was dancing with Mr Hay at the club that night."

"Oh him…" Amy was obviously struggling to remember. Maybe if she hadn't been so fucking drunk, none of this would've happened, Brendan thought bitterly. The small voice at the back of his head was saying otherwise – _maybe if you hadn't been so jealous and bitter, Brendan Brady, you'd have stuck around long enough to prevent it. _He pushed that voice aside. He couldn't deal with that right now. He had to be strong now. For Steven, and for Amy.

"I'd never seen him before," Amy spoke quietly, "Ste just met him that night."

"And is there any chance Mr Hay might have gone home with him?"

Brendan rose to his feet, insides clenched in fury, "NO!" He spat.

Amy and the Officer turned to him, surprised. Brendan was too if truth be told, but still, he wouldn't have Steven talked about like that. Steven wasn't like that – never was – he wouldn't have gone off to fuck some shit-face stranger. Even if he was drunk… even if he was out-of-it… even if he was…

"We have reason to believe Ste Hay was spiked on the night in question." The officer said slowly.

And everything went still. It was like the floor sinking beneath them. Brendan's mind reeled. Like the whole fucking world was crashing around him… even more-so than when he found out Steven was here in the first place. He felt sick… dizzy. How could this have happened? In his OWN FUCKING CLUB. Some disgusting perverted _cunt_ to slip a tab into Steven's drink… into _his _Steven's drink… to… to do _this _to him… to end him _here…_not able to even breathe for himself anymore. What had that man wanted to do to him? What had that sick fuck been planning? What had gone wrong – what had caused… this? For Steven to be beaten to a pulp, fucking nearly killed. And how could Brendan have just stood there… and watch that slimy son-of-a-bitch talk and dance with Steven like that…

"No…" he breathed slowly, hands shaking, he shoved them into his pockets roughly.

"Where is he?" Amy gasped, tears now dribbling down her cheeks again, "That Lewis bloke – have you caught him?"

"We're looking for him."

"Why? Why would he DO that? I don't understand!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Barnes."

"Please!" Amy sobbed. She looked broken. Truly broken. "Please tell me he's gonna be okay."

The officer just watched her for a moment. And that fake-pity shone through her eyes, just as it did through everybody else's. "I'm sorry." She said again. And then she left – just like that. Lucky for her, she'd probably sleep soundly that night, never knowing what a nice lad Steven was, and never reeling over the sour injustice.

OXOXO

It was another five painful hours. Hours of silence. Hours of waiting. Hours of wandering. Hours of Brendan's insides curling and uncurling in despair, self-blame, pain, sympathy. Hours of him playing the events over and over in his head… Steven at the club… Steven chatting to that man… Steven getting drugged… Steven being taken to that flat where they found him… Steven being beaten half to death. Had he been scared? If the drugs were strong enough, then hopefully not. Hopefully he never felt any of it – never realised it was happening, that would be better.

Fuck sake, what the fuck was taking so long? Why was nobody telling him anything? It had been almost eight hours now since Steven was taken into the operating theatre and put on life support, surely they must have SOMETHING to say by now! And please, fuck, let it be good. Brendan hadn't even begun to consider that it might not be. He couldn't think about that.

"Fuck sake." He growled furiously, rising to his feet and resuming his pacing back and forth over the waiting room. "Where the fuck are the fucking doctors?"

"They're working, Brendan." Amy said evenly.

"Why won't they TELL US anything?"

"I don't know, do I? I don't know any more than you do."

Brendan turned and checked Amy over. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen from tears. Girl needed a rest, that was for sure.

Brendan sighed. "Look. Jus' go home, get some sleep, I'll call you if there's any news."

"No." Amy shook her head adamantly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leavin' him alone."

"I'm here."

Amy rolled her eyes. Apparently Brendan's presence didn't stand for much. It took him aback slightly… like a harsh bump back to reality. He'd forgotten Amy hated him. He'd forgotten that's the way she thought; that Brendan didn't have a proper role in Steven's life. How wrong could she be? They may not be in a 'relationship', no, but that meant fuck-all, that meant nothing. Steven would still want Brendan to be here. He would… wouldn't he?

"CHRIST!" Brendan yelled in frustration, emotions bubbling harshly and making him feel sick…claustrophobic. "Where's the fucking… would someone PLEASE…"

He couldn't think straight. Couldn't breathe. He just wanted answers – now. He wanted to be treated with the fucking respect he deserved. He wanted to know what was happening to Steven. He wanted people to GIVE him that information because he more than anybody needed to know it. He wanted… he wanted people to KNOW, to UNDERSTAND what Steven meant to him. After months and months of trying to keep it a secret… all he wanted now was for the world to know. Was for the world to let him stay close to Steven and hold his hand while he lay in that bed, because he's Brendan Brady… he's the one who gets to do that.

He found one of the nurses heading out of the operation room and took his chances.

"WHAT'S GOIN' ON IN THERE?" He screamed at the nurse furiously, pulling her roughly by the arm. "It's been eight fuckin' hours, I wanna know what's happenin'!"

"Brendan!" Amy gasped, running up behind him.

"We're just doing some tests, Sir" The nurse hurried, "Now if you'd PLEASE just wa…"

"I'M NOT WAITIN' ANYMORE!" His insides were burning, his chest aching with pain; he couldn't do this anymore, and he wouldn't. "I WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S GOIN' ON – WHAT TESTS?"

"Sir, please…"

"Just tell me! No… let me see 'im."

"Visitors aren't allowed…"

"Do I look like I care?" Brendan seethed, getting right up in the nurse's face, teeth grit, eyes wild, veins popping with rage. And then he pushed her. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get her the FUCK out of his way. He knew he didn't have much time. He knew security would come soon. And he could hear Amy yelling protests behind him but he didn't care. He pushed through the door to the operation centre. He ran past stray doctors, and ignored all protests that he stop. Adrenaline was forcing him forwards. Desperation… need… fear all driving him forwards. He shoved anyone aside who got in his way. He felt his breath quickening, his heart beating more frantically. He heard security running behind him… but that just made him move faster. He scanned every glass window full of every unconscious patient until he found the right one… until he saw the instantly familiar figure lying in one of the rooms…

And then he was paralysed.

Steven.

"MR BRADY, WE INSIST YOU STOP RIGHT NOW!"

Brendan moved forward… pressed his face against the window, let the coldness caress over his forehead as he stared in at the lad he was so familiar with. And it was all he could do to stop himself heaving in pain. Steven was barely recognisable in there. His face was corrupted by sick red and black bruises. His bare chest was exposed, wrapped in bandages and fouled by a mass of tubes running into his skin. His hands wrapped up also… and his head. There was no part of him left clean and unaffected… no part of him the same as when Brendan last saw him just two days ago. The only part of him vaguely recognisable were his lips… plump… chapped right now, and open slightly – the way they were when he was sleeping. Only when he was sleeping he was breathing for himself, and now he wasn't. Now a machine was doing that for him.

Hands suddenly grabbed Brendan's shoulders roughly, as two security guards pulled him into some kind of lock; arms behind his back.

"No…" Brendan protested. But it came out weak and rasped. He couldn't take his eyes off Steven's unmoving figure. His boy.

"Mr Brady, we really can _not_ have visitors back here!" The nurse insisted. And the security guards were trying to move him, trying to take him away… take him away from Steven… but Steven needed him…

"No, please." Brendan croaked… shocked to find himself actually _begging. _Brendan Brady did not beg. And yet he was now. Over and over. "Please. I need to say with him… I have to stay here… please… please…"

"Mr Brady, we'll be moving Mr Hay to another ward shortly and THEN he'll be able to have visitors, but right now we just need to finish up a few tests, PLEASE cooperate!"

"What tests?" Brendan's throat was dry, he could feel tears that he detested creeping up his throat and up his gut.

"I will explain everything, but we JUST need to you vacate the area!"

"Why won't he wake up?"

"PLEASE Mr Brady!" The nurse reason, "If you cooperate, I PROMISE. I promise I will have someone explain to you the procedures."

So Brendan felt his body fall limp, let himself be guided by these godforsaken security guards, and he played along with their instructions. He'd play ball for now. He had to. For Steven's sake. For his sake only, Brendan would oblige to these peoples mindless orders.

XOXOX

"We haven't had all the results back yet." The doctor spoke gently. "But from the X-Rays we have done, we have detected broken ribs, broken fingers, a broken ankle and fractured collar-bone, and a fracture in a couple of back-bones."

"Right." Amy sniffed quietly. "And… that's all fixable, right? He won't… it's not permanent?"

"Those he will recover from."

"Okay. Okay…good."

"What we really need to be concerned about is the X-Ray we did on his head injuries."

"Wh…why? What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Well it's too early at the moment to know the true scale of the wounds… but our X-Rays did show some slight brain-damage to the left hand si…"

"No!" Amy cried, her head shaking back and forth manically as though trying to un-do the information she'd just heard… to reverse it all. "No, this can't be happenin'!"

Brendan couldn't even speak. He couldn't even react. He was done. Out of energy. These words seeped slowly into his consciousness but they only faded in and out… hovering in limbo… not true… they couldn't be. It was like his mind and body were exhausted, refusing the new information. Refusing to collaborate. He couldn't retort, couldn't feel, couldn't even breathe. He just sat there blankly, staring straight ahead. A ticking time bomb.

"As I say, it's too early to tell right now how serious it is, but it _is_ something we need to be prepared for when Mr Hay regains consciousnesses…"

"I can't believe this." Amy breathed. "Why? WHY HIM? I just… I can't…"

"I'm sorry." The doctor replied sombrely.

Sorry. Always fucking sorry. Always fucking sorry, but never really.

The hard scrape of Brendan's chair against the floor drowned out the pitiful silence. He didn't say a word… just left. He couldn't stand to be in the presence of these insincere apologies anymore, nor Amy with her tears and her feeling as though she has more of a right to be there than Brendan does.

He walked into the outside world for the first time all day, letting the cold air whip his face, fill his lungs – allowing him to take real breaths for the first time. Breaths he wished he couldn't take… breaths he wished he could give to Steven, who deserved them more. He allowed the silence to engulf him, allowed his mind to turn off, his brain to shut down, his heart to cease to function because it hurt too much. He wanted to be in a coma too. He wanted to end all these overwhelming sensations of regret, dread, guilt, horror, confusion, doubt. So many things didn't add up. None of this really made sense at all…

"Brendan?"

Brendan blinked. He turned towards the source of the noise… the familiar Irish accent. Turned to find his fathers black car parked just metres away from him, and his father leaning casually out of the drivers window.

"Heard that you were here." His father spoke calmly.

Brendan swallowed, struggling to find his voice for a moment. "Yeah."

"Ye look like shit, son."

"Right…"

"All this… jus' for a _barman_?"

Brendan's head reeled. So he'd heard then? Of course he'd heard; the whole of Hollyoaks knew by now. Cheryl had been calling all day, going spare. She'd wanted to come over, but she'd had to look after the club. Obviously she'd sent their dad instead.

"Happened in my club, didn't it?" Brendan spoke numbly. "Part my fault."

"Still, probably time to come home now, eh?"

"N…no. I'm stayin'… I've gotta stay here." Brendan couldn't think straight, couldn't function sentences properly. His head hurt… he wanted to think… he didn't want to stand here and talk and lie to this man.

"Yer a mess. You need sleep."

"Yeah." Brendan sighed. "I'll sleep here, da'. You go."

"What's your business hangin' round here jus' for some kid whose…"

"… DA', FUCK SAKE, I TOLD YE I'M STAYIN' HERE!" Brendan snapped. He ran his hands through his hair, noticing for the first time that he was shaking, shaking with anger and pent-up emotion.

Mr Brady stared at him for a few hard seconds. Scrutinising.

Until eventually he said, "Fine." and the car was driving away.

Brendan saw the suspiciousness in his fathers eyes then. The weird sense that he knew more than he was letting on… that maybe Brenan was being too transparent about this. Still, right now that was the least of his problems. Right now he could only think of one thing… and that was who did this to Steven. His friend, Steven. His fucking lover, for Gods sake. Because something didn't add up about the Lewis-story, Brendan realised, though he couldn't think of any other explanations. He couldn't think, he didn't know, he didn't understand.

He only understood one thing: that when he did find out who was responsible for this… he would kill them.


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm back to spelling it 'Stephen', because screw the rules, I prefer it that way. Also – HAPPY CHRISMTAS! Quite a short chapter now but hope to get the next one out very quickly. _

OXOXOXO

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Brendan was in a daze; half-conscious as he rested to the hypnotic noise of Stephen's heartbeat… the same noise that had kept him in his drowsy trance for the last four days. The leather chair beside Stephens' hospital bed had become where Brendan spent every hour of every day, sleeping, waiting, watching, thinking. He'd only ever leave to use the bathroom, otherwise would sit there forever; only ever being fed when Amy or Cheryl bought food in with them. He wanted to be there when Stephen woke up. He wanted Stephen to know that despite everything; despite Brendan not being there when it happened, despite Brendan's harsh rejection of him the day before it happened, despite every piece of shit that had happened between them for the last year… Brendan was here _now. _And he wasn't going anywhere. Not ever.

But Stephen remained unconscious. His black bruised eyes stayed lidded shut, and frozen cold hands lay limp to his sides, never squeezing back even when Brendan grasped tight. This is what he wanted isn't it? He always loved it when he got to hold Brendan's hand; in the dark warmth of the bedroom when nobody else was around; just a secret safe haven when Brendan indulged him.

Five days he'd been here now. And Stephen had eventually been taken off life-support, able to breathe for himself, but it only made the situation more stressful; Brendan could hardly sleep anymore for fear something would go wrong.

In those five days he hadn't heard from his father once. Not since that first day in the carpark. There was no explaining this, Brendan realised. Yes, it happened in his club, but that would never justify a five-day non-sleeping non-eating sit-in. Cheryl had mentioned something, somewhere the in the blur of merging days… something about their Dad being "worried sick" and, "he's asking questions, Brendan. What should I tell him?"

"Don't tell him anything." Brendan sighed. "'s none of his business."

"Not sure how much longer I can hold him off for, Bren. I mean what's he supposed to think? He said he'd come down here himself."

"No. He's not comin' here. Don't let him come here." Brendan spoke fiercely. If there was anybody he didn't want lurking about, it was him. It wasn't exactly clear why… but Brendan felt a resistance that went deeper than wanting to hide the true extent of his and Stephen's relationship. That didn't even seem significant right now, truth be told. He hadn't even cared when the nurse asked him yesterday whether he was Ste's boyfriend, and he'd answered honestly "no", but it hadn't even occurred to him until afterwards to feel embarrassed or angry about the insinuation.

No, he didn't want his father to find out, ever. But that wasn't the main problem. He couldn't put his finger on the main problem… he just knew he didn't want his Dad seeing Stephen in this state.

"When's he goin' back to Ireland anyway?"

Cheryl scoffed, "Anyone would think you were tryin' to get rid of him."

"Yeah, well."

"I don't know. I asked him, but he said he has some business to finish up here."

"Right." Brendan grunted, clenching the bridge of his nose.

"You look shattered, love." Cheryl sighed, perching on the edge of the leather seat and wrapping her arm tight around her brother. She looked at Ste softly. "When does Amy get back? Maybe you can have a quick rest when she does?"

"No." Brendan spoke firmly. Then sighed, feeling the familiar thud of heart in stomach as he remembered what he was dealing with here. "Brain damage. Fucking… brain damage."

"Yeah, but that could mean anything."

"It means his brains fucked Chez."

"But they said it could be minor. We _can't_ think the worst!" Cheryl leant forward and took Ste's hand in her own for a moment, stroking his fingers gently. "He's a fighter, is Ste. You know that."

Brendan bit his lip and tried to ignore all those times he'd seen Stephen cry… defeated, overpowered. He hadn't been a fighter those times. He'd been a young lad destroyed by too many people not giving him a chance. And yes, he tried to give off the façade of self-confidence and arrogance – and it worked well sometimes. But Brendan knew him better. He knew the crushed and insecure soul beneath all the bravado.

"Yeah." He mumbled half-heartedly. "Yeah, right."

XOXOX

It all happened so fast. Like a dream. Like some hallucination experienced in the middle of a blackout. Brendan was half-asleep, like he always was these days, eyes lolling open and shut and a cold cup of coffee held limply in his right hand. And then he heard a stir. The ever-so-slight sound of the sheets rustling beside him… the small breath of a body stirring into consciousness.

Brendan sat bolt upright, heart jolting uncomfortably into his throat.

"Stephen?"

He waited with baited breath… eyes wavering side-to-side nervously… fists clenched tensely to the bed-sheets as he WILLED those bruised eyes to open… for him to see life in them… for him to see the lad he'd been torn from this last week and a half.

Ste moved gently, with almost ghostlike elegance, his hand flinching sideways slightly, and then a gentle tongue reaching out and stroking his own bottom lip. Brendan's heart hammered in disbelief. Finally. FINALLY signs of movement. And Stephen's body would be stiff and probably in pain, but if it was he didn't show it. His adams apple bounced gently as he swallowed down air… and then… miraculously… his eyelids flickered. With a peacefulness, they began to peel open.

And for a moment Brendan was short of breath, not even realising himself how much he'd LONGED to see those blue pupils until they were here now, open in front of him. And now here they were.

Stephen's eyes were glazed. They didn't rest on anything in particular; he didn't even seem to take notice of Brendan leaned over him. Those eyes were faint and watery… looking shell-shocked as they lingered hazily onto the ceiling. But they were open. Stephen was awake. Finally.

"St…Stephen." Brendan whispered huskily, with the limited voice he had left. "Hey…"

He touched Stephen's shoulder gently… with shaky, hesitant fingers. Time seemed to linger for an eternity, with Stephen unreacting – just staring numbly into space. Until eventually Stephen's eye-line lingered sideways… resting at last upon the anxious eyes of an old lover.

Brendan swallowed, hard. He couldn't say anything… could hardly breathe. He just STARED into those misted-eyes with a fierce and desperate intensity. _Speak to me, _he prayed. _Recognise me, please. Please say something. _

The whole room lay silent and still and crackling in uncertainty.

Stephen's eyes just rested there, unmoving, fixated upon Brendan's face. They showed no feeling, no thought-process or emotion. They just gazed emptily… and yet soulfully too. He recognised Brendan. Brendan _knew _he did.

"Stephen, talk to me." He pleaded quietly. "Say somethin'."

Slowly, Ste's lips peeled open. They were shaking slightly, Brendan noticed, trembling and unvocal. He seemed not to know how to speak. Like he was stuck halfway between a dream and a reality; confused and disorientated, as one would expect, and yet strangely at peace. Strangely tranquil.

Something stirred in Brendan as he remembered where they were. With shaky fingers he reached for the buzzer, hit down on it twice… three times… calling for the doctor, alerting them. He didn't take his eyes off Stephen's the whole time, and nor vice versa.

It seemed like seconds… and also like an eternity… that the two of them sat together, unspeaking… just staring. Stephen's eyes pressed upon Brendan's hauntingly. Alive, and yet ghost-like.

And then the doors burst open, and doctors rushed in, and everything changed. Brendan was pulled to his feet by fast-moving hands, and people instructed him to get out, as the masked-men crowded round his Stephen… shining lights on him, speaking to him in loud, oppressive, obtrusive voices. Brendan could no longer see him. And before he knew it, Brendan was pushed from the room where he'd spent his last week… and the door was slammed on him… and the cold nothingness of the outside corridor pushed down onto his shoulders.

"Brendan!" Amy cried, rushing down the corridor towards him, "Brendan, what happened?"

"He… he woke up…"

"No!"

"I think so…"

"Oh thank… thank GOD!" Amy gasped – and then let out a laugh; one filled with pure and intense relief. Of course, she hadn't seen the glazed eyes and surreal distance in his stare, had she? She didn't have to stand here, spooked and haunted the way Brendan was now doing.

"So what's going on?" She asked, "Can we see him?"

"I dunno.. the doctors came in…"

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No."

"Well did he seem… was he…" Amy's expression flickered suddenly with anxiety, noticing Brendan's distinct lack of shared excitement. "Brendan… was he alright? Please tell me -"

"I dunno Amy, he's just woken up from a coma, hasn't he?" Brendan snapped, "Whas' he supposed to be like?"

Amy fell silent, eyes glossed in worry. Brendan didn't even have it in him to feel sorry for her. His hand fidgeted agitatedly inside his pockets, fingers wringing nervously around his keys and palms sweating. He felt his body pacing back and forth, his breathing quicken with nerves. He was stunned… dazed. What had been wrong with Stephen then? Why had he looked at him like that – in that surreal spaced-out way? It wasn't normal. It was like some sick hallucinogenic dream. Making him feel sick… dizzy…

"Brendan…" Amy muttered nervously, "Are _you_ alright? You don't look good."

"Yeah… yeah…" Brendan muttered, but his own voice sounded distant. His head was too busy reeling and spinning in grief. Grief at seeing the lights faded from Stephen's eyes like that… his brain…damaged…at the hands of some bloke who was still out there now… living his life. _Kill him. _His brain told him. _Kill him, kill him, kill him. _But the 'him' didn't have a face or a name. Did it?

So why did Brendan feel sick with the fear that he'd known all along?


	11. Chapter 11

_Hokay, so moving forward…_

_Please note I am no good at hospital talk, so if I get stuff wrong, just try and go along with it, I'm no doctor! :D_

_XOXOXX_

After Stephen waking up, Brendan's day had been slow and surreal. People walked in and out of Stephen's room, but Brendan wasn't allowed to. First it was doctors, then some kind of specialist, then some coppers who left shortly after saying they'd come back later; he was asleep again. Brendan and Amy just sat together, once again shunned to the harsh silence of the waiting room, and forced to over-analyse every anxious expression of every passing nurse for some kind of clue as to what was going on.

"He's sleeping now." One nurse had muttered softly, "He's under a lot of medication, and while he's asleep all we can do is wait I'm afraid."

"Well… wake him up!" Brendan spluttered incredulously. "Find out what's wrong with him for fuck sake – isn't that yer job?"

"We're doing everything we can, Mr Brady." The nurse insisted. "But the damage is already done. All we can do now is let him rest and recover."

"I wanna go in."

"I promise that as SOON as we're given permission to allow visitors, you'll be able to go back in. I promise."

Hours passed. More doctors. More specialists. And then the coppers came back.

And they were in there for ages.

What was taking so long?

What was Stephen telling them? What _could _he tell them? Would he be able to remember? Amy said the very fact they were there at all must be a good sign… a sign that Ste wasn't completely brain-dead. _That's something at least_, she said. A girl who was easily pleased, Brendan thought bitterly.

All the while he kept trying to push away one thought… the thought of who put Stephen here in the first place. Deep down he knew who it was… but that very fact caused him to feel sick to the stomach with rage, hate, hurt, injustice. A long-suppressed bitterness towards the man that raised him. The monster that raised him… to become a monster himself. And now look what he'd done.

_Stop it. _Brendan told himself, forcing himself to take slow deep breaths. _Don't think about that man now. _Now, it was about Stephen. Brendan HAD to see him. He HAD to know what was going on…

"Miss Barnes? Mr Brady?"

"Yes?"

Brendan looked up anxiously. A young nurse was smiling down at him… a fake sickly-sweet smile. The one that was bound to bear the terrible news of Stephen's fate.

"Come into my office." She said gently, "We have some news for you now."

XOXOXO

Brendan edged uncomfortably into the sterile white office, tensed awkwardly beside Amy on the receiving end of the desk. It was filled with paperwork. Hundreds of words and numbers all mindlessly signing away the lives and health of patients. The nurse shuffled through the papers casually, looking for Stephens.

"Okay," she breezed, "Right… so, we've done some tests, we've been speaking to Ste and he's going to be _just fine._"

Amy sighed in relief. Again, too easily pleased, too quick to trust. Brendan didn't believe a word of it. If everything were fine then he'd be in that room now, pulling the tubes from Stephen's body and getting him the hell out of here.

"He was a little dazed when he first woke up." The nurse spoke the obvious, "A bit disorientated… but it did seem like he remembered enough for the suspected amnesia diagnosis to be forgotten…"

"Okay…" Amy breathed, "So… so he remembers us then? Me and the kids, I mean?"

The nurse smiled, "I believe so, yes."

Brendan flinched. He wanted to ask too. He wanted to be like Amy and cry and whimper in front of people just to get their sympathy and cooperation, so that everybody knew to ask Stephen about him the moment he woke up. But to these doctors Brendan was just the angry guy who slept in the leather chair. He didn't mean fuck-all to them or to Stephen and was treated as such.

The nurse took a deep breath, and continued sombrely. "I'm afraid though that our tests showed some other results. Miss Barnes, Ste has a case of acute subdural hematoma."

Amy blinked, "Wh…what's that?"

"It's caused by high-impact attacks to the head, like the assault, caused by a blood clot putting pressure on the brain."

Amy's eyes immediately filled with tears; her trembling fingers and shaking lower lip reflecting every emotion bubbling in the pit of Brendan's stomach.

The nurse continued hastily, "Now, it's under control. The surgery we did on the brain has fixed the bleeding, but it's the after-effects we need to talk about. I'm afraid there are some potentially long-term impacts that need to be taken into consideration before we allow Ste visitors…"

"But… but you said…"

"The impacts on Mr Hay are still being examined… but one of the things the doctors have instantly recognised is a case of Ataxia."

"Ataxia… what's… I don't…"

"It's a problem with his muscle movements. A difficulty with coordination, in Mr Hay's case with his hands. It's something that you'll later need to consider when thinking about his future, when he's eventually discharged from hospital."

"I don't understand –"

"Well it will affect his every day life. With help from our physical therapists, his muscles will improve, but it will be a long process and in the meantime Mr Hay will need help with… the simplest of tasks."

"Hold on…" Brendan muttered, finding his voice again gruffly caught in the bottom of his throat. "But… you said his muscles – his muscles... that's – that's not just his hands now, is it?"

The nurse bit her lip. "We've yet to see whether this is a problem in other parts of his body."

"So worst case scenario?"

"Well, if the Ataxia has developed in limbs such as the legs then it may be…"

"Yeah, cut the CRAP alright?" Brendan spat. "Jus' tell me what might be wrong with him."

The nurse shot Brendan a scolding look, before continuing, "SHOULD the Atexia have developed in his legs, then yes, there may be cause for a wheelchair or…"

"Oh my God…" Amy moaned, head falling distressed into her hands.

"But there's nothing to say that's the case yet!" The nurse insisted. "Really – nothing. And on first impressions, Ste's memory, speech and hearing all seem to be in good form for this kind of diagnosis."

"And we're supposed to feel good about that are we?"

The nurse eyed Brendan sombrely, with him staring intensely back at her, like they were in some fierce battle of wills. Eventually she drew back a sigh.

"I'm sorry." She breathed, before gathering her papers together quietly.

Amy gulped back a tear, facing the nurse with brave and watering eyes. "Did he say anything to the police? About…"

The nurse fixed her a smile. "You can ask him yourself. You're welcome to go and see him now."

XOXOXOX

Brendan had never anticipated that he could feel such intense adoration before. Not until now, as he sat back in the leather chair, and he heard Stephen's voice again… and a wash of unparalleled emotions filled his lungs, tears threatening to choke him there and then. Not that he showed that of course. As Stephen croaked his simple words to Amy, Brendan's face remained stony and unreadable. His insides burned a hurricane.

"They're dead nice in here, them doctors." Ste spoke softly. His voice was weak from not being used, and his lips shook slightly, like he was suppressing a stutter. Still, his words were clear. His brain was functioning well enough to produce comprehensible words… comprehensible sentences and that was enough for now.

"We've been so worried about you." Amy replied. "The kids have been askin' after you, every day. They made you some cards and stuff; I left them at home but I'll bring them tomorrow. Lucas's writing has come on SO much, you're gonna be so proud."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and his reading! He read a whole book on his own yesterday – you know, that one you always read to him? I thought he'd just memorised it at first, but then he asked me to spell out the word for him, and he was – he was properly reading it! He's gonna be well clever when he's at school."

"Yeah." Ste smiled. His eyes shone for a moment with the pride that he'd had before all this… the pride he always wore when talking about his kids. "Definitely."

"And my Dad says get well soon. He's stayin' at the flat for a bit, you know, to help with the kids while I'm here."

"Have you been here a lot?"

"Course I have!" Amy laughed softly, "Wouldn't leave you on your own, would I?"

_On your own. _Again, acting as if Brendan didn't exist, as if he counted for nothing, as though he couldn't possibly serve as anything useful or helpful to Stephen ever. Well Amy was wrong; he could. He would help Stephen; help him get better and on his feet and help him get over all of this. And help him avenge who did it to him.

As though reading his thoughts, Stephen's eyes flickered momentarily over to where Brendan sat watching him now. Like he knew almost. Knew that his _proper _matehad been here all day, all night – never leaving.

Their eyes only met for a second, but it was like all that fierce electricity they'd shared scorched joltingly through the atmosphere. Stephens' expression was still slightly dazed, his limbs heavy and useless, his head vulnerably bandaged… but the fire was still here. Tense. Severe.

Even Amy seemed to notice the change of tone… the oppressive atmosphere weighing down on her as their shared intensity crackled off the walls.

"Does anyone want coffee?" She muttered lightly, "Brendan?"

"Please."

"Okay… can I get you anything Ste?"

Ste shook his head slightly. Even the small movement looked painful, but Amy didn't even notice; so quick she was to escape the sudden heaviness of the room.

And Ste and Brendan were left alone.

They sat for a moment in silence, Ste staring blankly at the ceiling, but Brendan's on him… never wavering.

"Are you in pain?" He asked gravely after a while.

Stephen wrinkled his nose, admitting softly, "a bit."

"Do you want me to get someone?"

"No."

Brendan nodded. Fine. He knew Stephen had his pride, and he knew how hard this must be for him to deal with. If the tables were turned, Brendan would rather die than deal with what Stephen was having to deal with; stuck like an invalid in a hospital bed, no use of his hands; no longer able to write, or hold things properly… having to have his food cut up for him like some kid… having to have assistance even dressing himself… undressing himself… not being able to remember certain things… not being the same person that he was and having no control over that… losing control of everything… all his abilities…

"It's gonna be alright, you know."

It wasn't Brendan who said it. It was Stephen. Again, like he was reading Brendan's mind and sensing his pain at the whole situation.

Brendan scoffed. It wasn't _him _that needed consoling.

"If you say so."

"They said…" Ste swallowed, gathering his words and thoughts together. He seemed to be struggling a little to do so as he grew more tired and uncomfortable. "The doctors said… it's all fixable. I'll get everything back."

Brendan nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"And… it's not like I could write that well anyway."

Brendan laughed softly.

"Or swim that well…" Stephen continued, "An' it's not like I ever went swimmin' anyway so…"

"You'll learn it all again. I promise."

Stephen nodded. But his eyes left Brendan's for a moment, rising back to the ceiling, blinking harshly… trying to rid himself of the rising tears he so didn't want to acknowledge at such a time.

"Hey…" Brendan breathed. He leaned forward instinctively. His fingers hovered against the bruised skin of Stephen's cheek, searching for eye-contact.

"Ow…" Stephen winced in pain.

Brendan drew his hand back quickly, "Oh – er… sorry…"

"No, s'alright…" Stephen sniffed, and his watery eyes followed Brendan's hand as it hung awkwardly to the side of the bed, limp and apologetic.

Very slowly, Stephen reached his own hand out.

But it didn't work. He couldn't do it anymore… he couldn't wrap his fingers inside Brendan's the way he did, and squeeze with the open affection he'd used on Brendan so many times before in the past. Now his hands just lolled open, nudging awkwardly at Brendan's own as he frustratedly tried to enforce the contact between them.

Brendan was quick to take over; he wrapped his fingers around the palm of Stephen's useless hand, holding tightly as he knew Stephen wanted.

But it was too late.

Tears fell down Stephen's cheeks, aggravated and infuriated as he acknowledged the loss of such simple functions.

"Nothin' works Brendan!" he sobbed miserably, not even bothering to hide the pain anymore.

"I know," Brendan coaxed softly. He didn't know what to say; he felt useless… ridiculous. He just wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck as he lent forward… and held him as close as he could hold him. And just like old times, his fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the strands of Stephens hair – the loose strands that came through the bandages. And he held as tight as he could.

"I'm sorry, Stephen." He breathed sincerely, "I am. I'm sorry."

Stephen's voice came out muffled from Brendan's shoulder; "s'not your fault."

But it was. It was Brendan's fault. Like everything was.

Brendan swallowed. "You didn't tell the police who did this to you, did you?"

Ste paused for a moment. And then… very slowly… he shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Cos… I…. I didn't know if you wanted me to."

"Don't worry Stephen." Brendan sighed, fingers stroking softly down the bruises on the back of Stephen's neck. "As far as I'm concerned, he's already a dead man."


	12. Chapter 12

_Just as a safety-note to begin, I thought I'd let you know I absolutely do not condone violence. From anyone, or for whatever reason - including revenge. So yeahhhh. And sorry it's been quite a while since the last update._

XOXOXOXOX

Hollyoaks felt different when Brendan returned to it. Weeks in that hospital made him disorientated… the streets now felt empty and strange… unwelcoming… not home to him anymore. Something was different… contaminating the place. And he knew only too well what it was.

"Oh – oh Brendan!"

The voice called from behind him but it was numb and distant in his brain – he couldn't focus on it with his mind set on something so severe.

"Brendan, wait!"

"What?" Brendan turned and snapped.

Jacqui's expression fell as she confronted the familiar face that had once been her boss. The face that usually looked so expressionlessly controlled and maintained but now looked wild, tired and miserable.

"I was just wandering… was just wandering how Ste was doing." She muttered slowly. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine." Brendan muttered shortly, spinning on his heel and heading towards the house.

"Well er, send him our love yeah?" Jacqui called after him, "Me and Rhys I mean."

"Why?" Brendan called back over his shoulder, not even putting in the effort to turn to his ex-employee, "Ye never bothered with him when he was here, did ye?"

He could just imagine the put-out and feisty pout Jacqui now wore having heard such an unreasonably biting statement. Still, he didn't care. He had bigger fish to fry. Important matters to take underhand. And his fists were already clenched in anticipation… his heart pounding with every step he took up the stairs towards his front door.

The whole place felt cold to him when he entered. He knew Cheryl and Lynsey and his Dad had all been living here for the past two weeks as though nothing had happened… but it was odd to actually SEE it. There was still cutlery on the table, an ironing pile at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing had changed physically. The world hadn't stopped turning for them.

He cleared his throat and called out into the empty space, "Dad…?"

Silence.

Fuck. Where would he be? Brendan wanted him here, NOW. He wanted answers. Explanations. He wanted cold hard revenge. His mouth was dry and thirsty for retribution. He wanted to make the man suffer the way he'd made Ste suffer. Suck the spirit from him the way he had Ste. Make him hurt… make him cry, just like Ste had been made to do.

"Brendan?"

But when Brendan turned, it was like the strength was sucked from him. His father stood before him, dressed in a well-ironed suit with slick back hair, combed moustache, face cold and poised for battle. Save the greyness of his hair, he looked the same as he always had. His expression was the same as back in the old days, when he made Brendan feel shit and useless and worthless; like he was nothing. How he sucked all courage and self-belief from Brendan then, with such ease… and had the power to do the same to him now.

"Long time no see." He muttered casually. "How's the barman?"

Brendan sucked in breath, flinching. How dare he. How dare he stand here with such calm composure and speak about Stephen so flippantly… after what he did. How dare he carry the opinion of himself so high, when he is so destructive and hateful. How dare he feel he can mess with peoples lives, their emotions, their bones as though they're nothing… just because he can.

How dare he turn Brendan into the exact same person, just a generation later.

The same scumbag.

"I know what ye did." Brendan breathed darkly. "I know what ye did to Stephen."

His fathers eyebrows raised to feign interest. "What did I do?"

"Still usin' the drugs, eh da'?" His heart hammered sickeningly inside his throat, "_Stilnox_. What ye used to have them girls back in the day – you still got em?"

"What are ye talkin' about, son?"

"Don't FUCK me about Da'!" Brendan spat, his body literally shaking with suppressed feelings and emotions that spurred not just from the last week, but for months, years. The times as a teenager that he'd seen his Dad drop tabs into girls drinks. Watch them loose control of themselves. Put them in the car. He'd never seen more than that, but he wasn't thick. "Ye put one in Stephen's drink!"

"An' when was I supposed to have done that?"

"Or you got someone else to do it then!"

"Why?" Mr Brady's voice was calm, but shuddered slightly with hidden-threat. He liked a challenge, did Mr Brady. He enjoyed to watch people battle their emotions, rage with their heart, and then he liked to break them down with cold calculating words. Emotion never got the better of him like it did others; that was his main weapon. "Why would I do tha'?"

Brendan swallowed. _Don't rise to it… not yet._

"You tell me." He whispered, trying to keep his voice even and his fists steady. _Don't lose control, not yet. _

"What business would I have with yer little barman, Brendan?"

"He knows it was you, you know." Brendan threatened lowly. "Yeah. He's awake now. He told me everything."

Not even a flicker of doubt or emotion. Mr Brady had the poker-face even more perfected than Brendan did.

Brendan continued, "Flaw in the plan was it, Da'? Thought ye would kill 'im, did ye?"

The room stayed still in heavy calculating silence for a moment, as the two eyed each other dangerously from across the room, trying to pre-empt the others next attack-strategy.

Until Mr Brady broke into a smile.

"No, I never cared whether I killed him." He sneered. "If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead."

Brendan inhaled a sharp breath. Just the sneer on his fathers face… it made his blood run cold. He had other cards to play. He knew something Brendan didn't. This turned the tables. His involvement wasn't a secret… he didn't care if Brendan knew or not.

"Then why the fuck did you do it?" Brendan hissed, taking a step forward but forcing himself not to move any further. _Not yet. Stay calm. Make him talk. Don't attack._

"Two weeks you've not been home." Mr Brady spoke conversationally. "Two weeks, an' yer old man doesn't even get a decent 'hello'."

"WHY DID YOU DO IT, I SAID?"

"I wanted to know how much yer barman meant to ye." Mr Brady scoffed. "An' now I have a pretty clear picture in my head."

Mr Brady took a step forward, his dead eyes piercing harshly onto Brendan's wild ones.

"It was a test, Brendan." He breathed. "An' you failed."

XOXOXOXO

Ste shuffled slightly in his bed, needing to move, hating to lie still like this. Everything ached. No… everything _throbbed… _and most of it on the inside rather than out. It was night-time; the room was dark and empty. No visitors. Amy had stayed until 7.30pm, until Ste had insisted she get back to the kids. Brendan had only stayed half an hour longer, before he seemed to grow fidgety, stressed… on edge. Ste knew what was going through his mind:

_As far as I'm concerned, he's already a dead man._

Ste had pleaded with him to leave it… begged him to let it be; Mr Brady was a dangerous man, as Ste had experienced first-hand… he was furious that Brendan was gay… Brendan should just stay well clear. In the end they'd been interrupted by Amy returning and forced to let the conversation lie.

In their half an hour alone after Amy left, Brendan's edginess had made Ste grow wary. He'd suggested Brendan go home and sleep. And now, thinking back, he remembered how Brendan's eyes had flashed momentarily with hurt… before returning to the old poker-face and agreeing.

He'd barely said goodbye, so distracted he was.

He seemed to find it hard to even look at Ste.

And that was the other thing… Ste looked awful. He knew it, just by the way Amy and Brendan looked at him, with sympathy or caution. His head was wrapped in bandages, his face was bruised… his limbs were limp and stupid. He was surprised that Brendan hadn't run a mile long ago.

_Don't think about it, _he repeated to himself, _don't get upset… there's nothing you can do now. _He blinked rapidly… fighting back tears. He was already humiliated that he'd sobbed so shamelessly to Brendan earlier… Christ, that was the last thing he wanted – reminding Brendan how weak and useless he was. Well now look at him. Now he was the epitome of weak and useless; he couldn't even write his own fucking name anymore.

And now, as those hateful tears sprang back into his eyes… all he wanted was for Brendan to be back again. He shouldn't have told him to go. He was just saving his last bit of pride… but what was the point? Now he was lonely, hurting, desperate for some company… for some reassurance… desperate for Brendan to wrap him in that strong hold again the way he did, and hold him as the minutes stretched on and on.

Ste drew back a sigh and allowed his head to sink back into the refreshing coldness of the pillow. The hum of the hospital monitors drilled through his head infuriatingly. He had an itch on his waist but his hands wouldn't crease themselves to itch it. The silence engulfed him in its menace and Ste came to the foreboding realisation… he couldn't be alone. He quite simply couldn't. Even when he left here, he'd be reliant… needing people to help him. All because of some disgusting homophobic old creep. Who right now he wanted nothing more than to suffer. To be dead.

XOXOXOX

"Ye don't know anythin' about me and Stephen." Brendan hissed.

"I know everythin', Brendan! Everyone knows; you've been _fuckin' _the boy behind the bar."

For the first time his father showed signs of emotion; his face contorting in ultimate disgust and hatred. He looked at Brendan like he was vermin… shit on the bottom of his shoe, or worse.

"You've been fuckin' around with a _boy, _and _everyone fuckin' knows about it! _What the… what the _fuck's _wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Brendan breathed slowly. He didn't like his Dad looking at him like that. Like he was shameful. He wanted to make it stop… he felt exposed. Sickened… humiliated…

"Nothin'?" Mr Brady let out a hard laugh. "Look at yerself. LOOK at ye."

Mr Brady's eyes ran up and down Brendan's body – the suave suit, the expensive shoes, all of these things Brendan had copied off him to give the image of power and perfection. When really, he was _this._

"You disgust me." He jeered darkly.

Brendan grit his teeth, his stomach churning in self-hatred. Like he was holding a mirror to himself. Reminding himself of the shame… he forgot when he was so wrapped up in his obsession for _Stephen. _He never wanted to be this. He never asked for it. He didn't want it. It's not his fault.

"What?" Mr Brady spat, taking in Brendan's silence and mocking, "Do ye _love_ him, Brendan? Ye love the pretty boy, do ye? That's why ye fuck him an' that's why you're here for him?"

Brendan thought about Stephen now. He couldn't help it. He remembered Stephen as he'd last seen him; distraught and tear-stained as he lay useless in that hospital bed, all bandaged up. And looking at Brendan with soulful, open and forgiving eyes… after everything, believing that Brendan was his _friend, _and trusting him enough to cry to him.

And even now, in the moment that Brendan was filled with such hatred and anger… his heart tugged somewhere deep down with the pining. The pining he'd finally succumbed to months ago… as the ache of love.

Fucking love.

"Ye thought you'd come here to fight me, did ye?" Mr Brady jeered. "The little queer's gonna shout at his ol' man, is tha' what ye…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

Before he knew what was happening, Brendan had him up against the wall, his fist clenched tight around the old wrinkled neck, and hearing the man that raised him gasp for breath under the strength of it.

"_Man?" _Brendan whispered fiercely. "Five against one. An' that makes you feel like a _man_ does it?"

This so-called 'man' had stood back and watched as five burly and trained professionals had laid into Stephen… a smaller, younger lad, yes, but more man than any of them.

"No." Brendan jeered, his voice ticking hatefully inside his fathers ear. "_I'm a man."_

And with that his fist pumped like reflex; smashing against the weaker ribs of the older man… hearing them crack… hearing his father gasp for breath and keel over. And Brendan held him up easily with a fist still clutched around his neck.

"You." He spat. "You're nothing."

And then the fierce red cloud took him over, and he was no longer in a comprehensible state – just black harsh anger. From that moment on, his fists did the talking.


	13. Chapter 13

_Woaaahhh, look at this, a quick update! ;)_

XOXOXOX

"Wh… what did you say?"

Brendan turned from Stephen's sleeping figure to Cheryl, fixing his eyes on his sister seriously. "I said I want him to move in with us."

Cheryl blinked, momentarily struggling to find the right words. "A…are you sure that's a good idea, I mean… after everything that happened between you two?"

"I'm not proposin' Cheryl; I'm sayin' he can have the spare room!"

"But that's our Dads room…"

"Yeah, but or Dad's gone, hasn't he?"

"But he might come back…"

"Cheryl, no ones heard from him in two weeks! Jus' face it, he's fucked off again."

Cheryl's eyes glistened for a moment with confused and lost tears. Brendan looked away; he didn't want to see that. It had been two weeks since his confrontation with his father. And he couldn't tell anyone what had happened. Nobody could know.

So he'd told Cheryl a lie; Mr Brady had disappeared and obviously gone back to Ireland… he wasn't answering his phone, probably because he'd lost it or something. He left because he had business back home, most probably.

And Cheryl had believed him. Brendan had felt bad, sure; guilty that he was making Cheryl worry, and guilty every time he watched her making endless phonecalls to endless family members, asking if they'd seen him. None of them had, of course.

It was for her own good anyway, that she didn't know where he was. With a bit of luck she'd never have to see his scumbag face again. It was better for everyone.

"Well…" she muttered, hastily changing the subject back to the matter at hand, "Does Ste _want_ to live with us?"

"I haven't asked him yet, have I?"

"Well Brendan he's gonna be released soon; if he's coming home with us we'll have to make arrangements won't we? When are you gonna ask?"

"I don't know!" Brendan hissed, cautious not to wake the subject of their conversation. "Maybe… I dunno, maybe _you _can ask him?"

Cheryl scoffed. "Oh come on."

"What?"  
>"Brendan Brady, you're not <em>scared <em>are you?"

"What? No, course not!" Brendan snapped, looking down at the floor and improvising; "It'll jus' mean more to him comin' from you, won't it?"

"HOW would it?"

"It's your house! Technically."

Cheryl laughed mockingly, watching with overpowering fondness as her brothers face shone red with embarrassment and he did his upmost to hide it. Ridiculous really, she thought, that after all they'd been through Brendan couldn't just come out and say it: _Stephen, I want you to live with me. I want you to be with me so I can make sure you're taken care of, because I'm a love-struck old fool who despite every impression I try to give of myself, OBVIOUSLY can't stand life without you. _She smiled at the thought. She knew the vague details of Brendan and Ste's past relationship, and she knew it hadn't been plain-sailing before… but she knew Brendan loved that lad. And that's all that mattered to her; her brother being happy.

Still, having Ste around wouldn't be easy, what with his current situation. The hospital had already been talking about making adjustments to his living environment; special equipment to be fitted in the home in order to make life easier for him while his coordination wasn't great.

He was improving though.

Even over the last couple of weeks, Ste had shown a relentless determination to get himself back on track and back to normal. He wanted to remember everything he'd forgotten, relearn every ability he'd lost and restore all normality as though nothing had happened. That determination could sometimes destroy him; resulting in frustrated tears which he tried admirably to hide, but which always ended up staining the shoulder of Brendan's suit. Leah and Lucas had visited once, and both been pretty spooked by their daddy's almost lost expression, his new quietness and social-detachment. They'd left pretty quickly. That had been the hardest part.

He'd also suffered two panic attacks since his waking up, which the doctors said was perfectly normal considering his condition, but which had scared the shit out of the person witness to them: Brendan, on both occasions.

It was only natural then that Brendan wanted Stephen at home with him, where he could make sure for certain that everything was okay with him and running smoothly. He was responsible for this, after all. He had let it happen, right under his nose. He was the one here day in and day out, talking to Stephen when Stephen was in the mood for it, and even holding his hand on occasions. He was his _friend. _

Although Amy in no way agreed.

"Brendan, no."

"H…how can you even say that?" Brendan snapped incredulously, "It's not up to you, is it, it's up to him!"

"Brendan, I mean it; don't even ask him!"

"Why not?"

"You _know _why not!" Amy fumed, exasperated. "You may think he's all cute and vulnerable now, but how long till you get sick of him and start SMACKIN' him round again – behind closed doors this time!"

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? I swear to God, Brendan, if you ask him…"

"Then we'll see how HE feels!"

"NO! Because you _twist his mind! _This isn't _fair_ Brendan, this isn't fair on anyone!"

"Look," Brendan sighed, his fists creasing in his hair in frustration. "You've got a job ye need to be at. Stephen needs someone to _be _with him in the day…"

"_You've got a job!"_

"Yeah, but I can do shifts with Cheryl and Lynsey! An' he doesn't want the kids seein' him like this, you know he doesn't…"

"…Brendan…"

"An' you can visit any time ye like if ye don't trust me! He… he can _leave _any time he likes; he's a big boy, Amy!"

Amy took a deep breath, and Brendan could have sworn he saw the beginnings of tears start to show behind her eyelids. Wow, she was really serious about this. She didn't trust Brendan at all, did she? She really _really _hated him.

"Please." She spoke softly, calmly, _desperately _trying to get through to the man she'd spent months and months detesting. "Please Brendan, just… leave it. He's not in the right state for you to put him through any more hassle…"

"I'm not going to…"

"YOU ARE RIGHT NOW!" Amy screamed. "_GOD, _won't you… won't you think about _ANYONE _but YOURSELF for a change? This isn't about YOU; this is about STE and what's best for him! He just needs _security. _And stability. He doesn't need to be getting back into a _fucked-up_ relationship, and YES Brendan, that's ALL THAT YOU CAN GIVE HIM."

With that, Amy seized her handbag and stormed away, giving Brendan just a tiny glimpse of a hardened tear falling down her cheek before she did so.

So in the end, Brendan forgot about it.

Stupid idea anyway.

Fuck it, maybe Amy was right. Sure, right now he was in a state where he could never imagine laying a finger on Stephen again; the very idea shook him to the core. But he'd felt that before, many times… and yet somehow he'd lost himself. Even before in throws of passion, somehow Brendan's fists had thrown. It was something he couldn't control. And that alongside his uncontrollable feelings for the lad… it was recipe for disaster.

Amy was right. Stephen was safer without him.

XOXOXXO

"I'm jus' gettin' dead bored now." Stephen muttered, fidgeting about as he usually did to try and get himself into a comfortable position.

The changes in Stephen were small, and yet glaringly obvious to anybody who knew him well, such as Brendan did. Simple things… like his voice was more quiet now. Perhaps it was a shy uncertain thing, or perhaps it would stay that way forever. Brendan couldn't really get used to it being like that; he was used to Stephen rabbiting on aimlessly with that annoyingly endearing chavvy accent accentuated loudly. He was never self-aware then; never.

"Only another week." Brendan spoke quietly. "Then ye go home."

"Yeah." Ste nodded, licking his lips momentarily in what seemed to be a quick glimpse of nerves, although he hastily hid it. "An' you know Rodger? He can still be my physiotherapist, he says, even when I'm not in here. He's gonna come to mine."

Brendan's stomach jolted unnervingly.

Oh… _Rodger._

Famous fucking Rodger. Stephen hadn't shut up about him since they first met two weeks ago; Rodger was an employee in the hospital trying to help Stephen with his muscles, his reflexes, his memory, his speech… everything. Apparently there was _nothing _ couldn't do. Or at least in Stephen's mind:

"_An' he's dead funny, you know?" _He'd told Brendan with a rare bout of excitement that he hadn't demonstrated since the attack. _"Like, he takes it all seriously and that, but then he's fun as well, you know? So it's like – best of both worlds, innit?" _His grin had been large and his eyes were shining again. This Rodger bloke had had a good effect on him; boosted his confidence and hope. Something both Brendan and Amy had been trying to do since the moment Stephen woke up.

"What do ye mean, he's gonna come to yours?" Brendan asked, trying to ignore the bubbling feeling of jealousy cringing away in his chest.

"Well he does that n'all. He doesn't just stick round here, he does visits as well."

"How often?"

"He says three times a week at first. An' then we're gonna try and get it down, you know, as I get better."

"Yeah…" Brendan muttered.

"So that's good, innit?"

Brendan dragged his eyes up from the floor and met those of Stephen's, which right now were almost pleading with him for some shared-enthusiasm. He wanted Brendan to tell him it was going to be okay. He wanted Brendan to tell him it wouldn't last forever – all this – and soon Stephen would be back to normal. Except Brendan had already told him that over and over, and every time he did it just seemed to make Stephen more frustrated. He couldn't win.

"It's not gonna happen overnight ye know." Brendan spoke quietly.

"Y…yeah. I know. But…"

"Yer not gonna walk out of here an' be able to get back to work or get back to yer life, I mean… ye don't even remember where ye live Stephen!"

"I do now!" Stephen argued, "I remembered, didn't I, when…"

"Fine. So I'll send a taxi next week, an' you can get yerself home, can you?"

"Wh…" Stephen's face fell. "Why are you bein' like this?"

"I'm not bein' like anything, Stephen, I'm being realistic!" Brendan groaned, exasperated more-so by Stephen's hurt expression. "What are ye gonna do when Amy's at work in the day, huh? Or is _Rodger _gonna come round then too, to make ye food and help you get dressed?"

"I _can _do it you know, jus' not easil…"

"… you _can't _do it, Stephen." Brendan said plainly. Because it was true. Stephen taking 30 minutes before he could successfully pull a shirt on properly was not _doing it. _Him spending 20 minutes trying to grip a knife hard enough to cut was not _doing it. _That was _suffering. _That was ridiculous.

Stephen's eyes shone with hurt and disappointment right now; he didn't want to hear this. He wanted Brendan to tell him he was great, he'd be back on his feet in no time; well tough.

"Look, me tellin' ye you're doin' well all the time isn't gonna help, is it?" Brendan sighed.

"But I'm _tryin' _my best…"

"I know you are!"

"So…" Ste grit his teeth together, trying to suppress emotions that he didn't have the physical or mental strength to deal with right now. "So what's your point then? Why are you bein' so…"

"I'm just sayin' you need help."

"Yeah, and I'm aware of that, thanks!"

"Well I don't think you are."

"Uh, I don't wanna talk about it Brendan. If you're gonna be such a dick you may as well…"

_Don't say it._

_You're twisting his mind._

_He's not in the state to deal with you and your fucked-up feelings._

"Stephen, I want you to live with me."

_Fuck._

Stephen fell instantly silent, his jumbled emotional spiels collapsing pathetically into nothing. He looked at Brendan – stunned.

He was not expecting this, clearly.

And now Brendan felt exposed and stupid. Christ, why wasn't Stephen saying anything? Why had he put himself on the line like this, when now spoken out-loud is was OBVIOUSLY ridiculous. Why would Stephen _ever _move in with Brendan? After everything – all the sordid secrets, brutal punches, broken promises. After they'd worked hard not so long ago to put it all behind them and be _friends, _and yet here was Brendan now, breaking the boundary between what was socially acceptable and what not.

But he couldn't stop himself. The silence was suffocating and he heard himself _babbling – _actually _babbling – _nervously in explanation:

"I mean… I can drop some shifts at the club to, you know, stay with ye. Or… of if you'd rather I didn't, I mean, Cheryl can always do the same, I'd have to clear it with her. An'… you know, I'm talkin' about the spare room. Or not – as the case may be. I jus'… it's up to you, it was just an idea… stupid idea, really. I dunno what I was thinkin'…"

"I…"

Brendan fell silent immediately, eyes wavering, uncertain, upon Stephen's equally unsure expression.

"…why?" he whispered after a moment.

"Cos…" Brendan cleared his throat, thinking how to answer that. _Why? _Now there was a question.

Because this was Brendan's fault. Because he wouldn't be able to sleep at night not knowing how Stephen was coping with his new situation. Because despite them just being 'friends' he couldn't stand the idea of Stephen being more dependant on this _Rodger _bloke than he was on him. Because he cared about him… because he couldn't stand not being near him… because, even now, even after everything… he fucking loved him, didn't he?

"I jus'… I jus' wanna help, Stephen. That's all."

Stephen swallowed slowly. His tooth nibbled down on his lip in hesitation, looking confused and emotional and nervous.

"Brendan," he croaked, "We are… we are jus' friends aren't we?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course we are."

"I don't wanna get hurt anymore." He whispered, his head shaking almost frantically, while sincere, haunted tears filled his eyes. Brendan had scarred him from his behavior, and this was the result: Stephen was cautious and untrusting, even when Brendan was offering him earnest care.

"Stephen, I swear. I… I wouldn't."

"I know, but you say that _now…"_

"Okay." Brendan nodding. He understood. Amy said it, Stephen said it, Brendan knew it. This was a bad idea. "Okay, don't worry about it, it was stupid…"

"No."

Stephen blinked, lips hovering open and thinking it all through in his head.

"I want to." He mumbled, almost inaudibly.

Brendan swallowed, hardly able to believe it. It had been hypothetical really… not it was becoming a reality… a whole different ball-game…

"Y…you do?"

Stephen nodded, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"It'll be alright, won't it?"

"Yeah." Brendan felt an exhilarated, breathless smile stretching onto his face. "Yeah, course it will."

And Stephen smiled too… a small, shaky one… but a real one all the same. "And we won't get on each others nerves, d'you think?"

"Well, I'm not gonna lie Stephen, I _am _pretty annoying."

Stephen laughed. Actually _laughed. _And now Brendan thought about it, it was probably the first time he had done since waking up two weeks ago.

"I guess I can put up with ya." He replied, smiling.

"Yeah." Brendan nodded, adamant. His heart was hammering and for one ridiculous second he felt like a stupid teenager again… elated… fresh. He hoped it wasn't showing too much in his expression – his ego couldn't handle that – but for some reason he had little control over the smile he was presenting now.

"I'll tell Amy." Ste thought aloud.

"Yeah, that's probably for the best."

"An' you're not gonna change your mind?"

"No. I've been thinkin' about this for a long time."

Actually, a longer time than even Stephen could imagine. He didn't know, did he? He didn't know that back in July, when Brendan was getting rid of Noah, how he'd also been planning to ask the question then. Because those months when Stephen had been with someone else had been hard, and cold and harsh and empty. And Brendan had wanted nothing more than to have him _there, _in the house with him. All the time.

He had been planning to ask him all the way back then, before Eileen came back and threw everything to this shit again.

After that Brendan was sure he'd never get Stephen back.

And yet, this was really happening _now. _Yes, they were just friends, but that didn't really matter right now. Stephen _liked _him. Trusted him, respected him and was now going to be _with _him, whenever Brendan wanted. It was going to be perfect.

Fucking perfect, at last.


	14. Chapter 14

His stomached jittered with nerves. He perched on the edge of the hospital bed, his feet tangling around one another and teeth biting down on his lip uncomfortably as he waited for Brendan to arrive. 4:00 he said. They'd planned it all out: Amy had picked all Ste's stuff up from the B'n'B and had (begrudgingly) taken it to Brendan's (she'd made a point of keeping a few sets of his clothes at her house for when everything 'inevitably went to shit'). Brendan was supposed to be here at 4:00, they'd do the whole check-out routine together so the doctors could talk through the procedures etc, and then they were going to go back to Brendan's where Ste would now… be living.

He ran it over in his head again and again and again. Living with Brendan. Under the same roof as the man who made his spine shiver with sexual tension, just by clasping eyes or sharing rooms with him. It was such a stupid idea, after everything they'd been through, after they had just started doing well in a friendship. And yet Ste wanted it so badly.

His weeks in hospital had been miserable, gut-wrenching, unbearable. He felt so pathetic and useless, and everything felt so vague and distorted. And amazingly, Brendan had come through. He'd made everything better. He'd talked to Ste, and made him laugh and offered a shoulder to cry on. And now, Ste was in a state where he'd be this useless at home too – without doctors or nurses. Knowing that Brendan would be around made him feel (perhaps naively) more hopeful and safe about the whole thing.

He would be able to handle the tension. He could handle the unspoken feelings and he could continue to push aside the stomach-churning muscle that ACHED to feel Brendan's lips and touch. He had good practice at ignoring those feelings by now.

But by the time 5:00 came, Ste collapsed back onto the hospital bed, heart sinking. _Brendan's changed his mind, _he thought. _He's fucking changed his mind – fucking again. He's just gonna let me down again. He won't show. He'll just leave me here, humiliated, like he always does._

"Alright Ste?"

Ste glanced upwards, and smiled immediately at the recognisable face of Rodger, his psychotherapist. Rodger had been amazing these past few weeks too. They'd been doing exercises with Ste's hands and brain-to-muscle coordination. It had been pain-staking and frustrating, but Rodger had always been patient. He knew what he was doing; made Ste feel comfortable. He understood Ste's aggravation and put him at ease. They'd even made a kind of companionship; Ste found he could connect and be secure around Rodger in a way he couldn't with anybody else in the hospital day after day.

Rodger smiled at him as he peered around the door, scanning the room; obviously checking for Brendan.

"Have you heard from 'im?" Ste mumbled, face burning red with pre-empted embarrassment.

"I'm sure he's just running la…"

"STEPHEN?"

Ste's heart jumped. He sat bolt upright, hearing the familiar Irish accent before he saw it… and then Brendan was there; eyes wild and forehead sweaty. He pushed Rodger aside mindlessly and darted straight into the room, apologies at the ready:

"Sorry I'm la…"

"…where the hell have you been?" Ste snapped, "I've been waitin' an hour!"

"I'll explain everythin', jus… quick, let's get out of here."

"Hold on…" Ste muttered. Jesus, Brendan snaps his fingers and it's all-systems-go; he'd almost forgotten that.

Ste fumbled for his shoes, trying to get them on using just his feet and trying not to draw either Brendan or Rodgers attention to the fact that he was doing so; he still couldn't get used to this new neediness he now had.

"I'll see you in a few days at yours, Ste." Rodger said with a wink, and began to move away from the door.

"Ye, jus' give us a call before ye show up, alright?" Brendan fired at him. "Don't just come amblin' in whenever ye fancy."

Rodger frowned, obviously sensing Brendan's odd attitude of confrontation. "Of course, Mr Brady. Ste already knows anyway; I'll be round 2:00 on Tuesday."

"Well might wanna let me know as well, eh? Seein' as it's _my _house you're comin' to."

"I'm sorry." Rodger said politely, "Yes of course."

"Right." Brendan breezed. "Run along then."

Ste glanced between Brendan and Rodger, wandering what the hell had made Brendan get all territorial in just a few seconds of them setting eyes on each other. He wished he wouldn't. Ste had put Rodger out enough over the last few weeks without dragging vicious-ex's into the mix.

"I'm sorry…" Rodger frowned, catching on to the aggression being thrown at him, "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Because if there is, you know, Ste can always come _here _to do his physiotherapy. I just got the impression he'd rather do it at home."

"Jus' makin' sure we're all on the same page, that's all." Brendan drawled. "Mate."

"Right… well…" Rodger sighed coolly, "You have my number if you have any problems, Ste. Good luck."

And he strode away. Apparently he was unperturbed by Brendan's behaviour for the most part… although he had given Brendan absolutely NO reason for it. Shit, maybe this moving-in stuff wouldn't be quite as simple as Ste had hoped… if Brendan was going to get all funny about _his _house, _his h_ours, _his _rules…

"What were all that about?" Ste demanded.

"Nothin'. C'mon, lets go. Ye got everything?"

"Yeah."

"Right, so what are ye waitin' for?"

XOXOXO

In the car journey, the mood lifted. Whatever had made Brendan late and flustered and on-edge seemed to have escaped his mind as soon as Ste got talking about what a relief it was to be away from the hospital.

"An' it'll be so good to not have them doctors breathin' down me neck all the time." He continued. "An' have proper food an' that."

"You do know neither me or Cheryl can cook, Stephen, don't ye?"

"Yeah but I like takeaways." Ste grinned. "It's gonna be well weird, innit? You, me and Cheryl."

"You can always change your mind, ye know."

"No." Ste shook his head adamantly. And then realised… "Wait… why? Do you _want_ me to?"

"No, I just thought…" Brendan sighed, "I didn't want ye to feel pressured, that's all. Amy's been mouthin' off at me all week about it."

"Ah, don't listen to 'er. She's jus' being protective, in't she?"

"Women." Brendan grunted, rolling his eyes. "Speakin' of which…"

Brendan nodded out of the window, and Ste blinked rapidly; startled to realise they were already back in Hollyoaks. His memory really wasn't as good as he'd hoped it to be… he hadn't remembered _any _of those streets back there.

But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was what Brendan was pointing at… right in the middle of the street, below the steps up to the house, were Cheryl, Amy, Leah and Lucas. They were all waving their arms around manically, big grins on their faces. The kids were holding balloons and behind them was a big amateurly-done banner: "WELCOME HOME STE"

"No way…" Ste grinned, his cheeks burning red and heart beating quickly. He hadn't expected this... not by any means.

"YOU'RE HOOOOOMEE!" Amy cried, and her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck from the _moment _he stepped from the car; practically dragging him down onto the pavement. It hurt like fuck where the bruises on his neck were, but he didn't dare say anything.

"Hiya." He giggled, overwhelmed. "Hi kids."

"Hello Daddy." Leah smiled, and held the balloon up to him. She was being slightly sheepish about it; their last encounter in the hospital had unnerved her a lot – seeing her Dad hooked up to tubes and staring into space... not the same as he used to be.

He tried hard to keep it together for her now.

"Aw, thanks Leah." He smiled, bending down to her level, "An' did you help with the banner, n'all?"

"Yeah."

"Aw, that's well nice. Thank you."

Leah lifted her finger and traced it gently down the bruise that still lined the left of Ste's jaw.

"Does that hurt, Daddy?"

"No, not anymore."

"Ste, love, we have missed you SO much." Cheryl beamed, holding her arms open for an embrace and squeezing hard as Ste fell into it. Again, it fucking hurt, but he couldn't say anything; not that that mattered as Brendan stepped in almost immediately:

"Give 'im a break Chez, he's just got out of hospital."

"Oh right – sorry!" Cheryl bounced away from him, a guilty kind of grin on her face. "I'm just so happy you're comin' to stay with us, and _don't worry, _we're gonna have the best time ever, aren't we Bren?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Brendan muttered, and started pushing his way past Cheryl and Amy in an attempt to reach the steps. "Stephen, c'mon I'll show you the spare room."

"Oh, no no no!" Cheryl chimed in with a mischievous glint in her eye that made her look 5-years old rather than 25. "We have a surprise first!"

"What?" Brendan sighed.

"Well, everyone's been so worried about Ste, so we're jus' having a few people over for dinner, that's all. Nothing heavy – just a few drinks, a bit of music, a bit of dancin' if we're feeling really crazy, eh love?" She nudged Ste enthusiastically.

"Chez, are ye serious?"

"What people?" Ste asked, smiling widely despite himself. It was odd to think that anybody besides Amy had actually been bothered by his time in hospital. And while right now he was feeling tired, disorientated and detached… well he ignore the sense of excitement at the idea either.

XOXOXOXO

The house was bopping with some of Cheryl's old 90s-hits, the table was laid with food and snacks and alcohol, Cheryl was dancing about like nobody's business and she weaved her way in and out of the guests that had come; Jacqui, Rhys, Amy, Leah & Lucas, and apart from that it was just people that Ste didn't really know who had been dragged by Cheryl, like some of the students and new Chez Chez bar staff.

As soon as the music started Ste kind of got the feeling this wasn't a good idea. His head hurt with a gentle but consistent throbbing pain. He felt a little dazed; unable to engage in conversation too long and zoning out whenever he did. He felt at all times like people were looking at him, or otherwise purposefully NOT looking at him; making him feel alone and isolated despite everybody being around him.

"Have they found the guys that did it to you?" Jacqui asked, her eyebrows raised in concern.

"Um, no." Ste mumbled, trying to focus properly on the conversation and ignore the fogginess in his mind that he was starting to feel. "I jus'… I jus' wanna forget it now, I think."

"Yeah, but still, the police must be lookin' for them. And that bloke that spiked your drink, I mean, how've they not found him?"

"I dunno much about it, ask Brendan or somethin'." He reconsidered that immediately. "Or jus'… drop it. Probably just drop it."

"Yeah alright." She nodded, catching on to Ste's hastiness to change topic, and obliging. "So how's come you're stayin' with Brendan then? Are you guys… you know… are you back toge…?"

"No. No s'just… he's just a good mate, in'he?"

"I dunno, is he?"

"Well he's been well good, ever since…"

"Yeah." Jacqui nodded. "Well I think he's got your back anyway. He hasn't taken his eyes off you all evenin'."

And she nodded to behind him. Ste turned. Brendan was stood to the sides of the room, not talking to anybody; the way he had been the whole night. But sure enough he was looking straight in their direction, his eyes unwavering on Ste's figure; just watching. It made Ste feel comfortable in a way, knowing that despite his dazed and awkward state right now, Brendan was there.

The night continued as much the same. Jacqui was keeping Leah and Lucas amused while Amy was chatting with Dodger, who'd showed up. Apparently they were a proper item now. Great. Everyone was lively and happy and absorbed in something. The music had gotten louder. Had it? Ste hadn't seen anyone turn it up, but by now his head was throbbing… he could feel the beats of the song pulsating uncomfortably though his brain, making him feel nauseous. Shit, how long was this going to go on for? He didn't even want to ask someone to get him a drink, cos it was embarrassing. He just wanted everyone to go now.

"You alright Ste?" Rhys asked him as Ste shuffled past to reach the sofa.

"Yeah, fine."

But he wasn't, not really. He collapsed onto the settee, head in hands and breathing deeply; anything to get this fucking headache and sick feeling away. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. But now he was becoming hot too… and the sweat was starting to feel sticky and uncomfortable. Christ, who turned the fucking heat up?

"I know, what a dick!" One of the students yelled, and their laughs echoed almost manically around the walls of the living room.

Holy shit, were they talking about him? They were, weren't they? He knew it. Everyone could tell he wasn't normal anymore; he was weird and funny now.

His heart started to hammer quickly… the fear streaming into his consciousness that he was going to throw up… here, in front of everyone…

"Stephen. You alrigh'?"

Brendan was at his side almost instantly… but it didn't feel right. Ste could barely see him… could barely lift his head to look at him for fear his brain would crack in half. Shit, fuck, this wasn't fucking good. This didn't feel good at all.

"Chez, I told ye, turn the FUCKIN' music off!" Brendan yelled.

No, he didn't want that. He didn't want people to notice something was wrong with him… he didn't want them to look. His heart was hammering inside his head now, and filling his ear-drums, just the loud harsh 'boom boom boom'… like he was gonna die or something. And hard penetrating goosebumps were crusading over his forearms despite the huge heat. This was really fucking it, wasn't it?

"Stephen, look at me a sec…" Brendan sounded worried. He knew too. He knew this was bad news.

"Ste…" That was Amy, with her voice equally frantic, "Ste, are you alright?"

He wanted to tell them to back off a bit, but he couldn't gather the breath… like his throat was strangled and couldn't breathe. Fuck. He tried hard to gasp for breaths, trying to take in air, but it wouldn't work… it was only becoming harder and his head was spinning and knees were shaking and he'd never been so sure than this that he was going to be the end of him than now.

"Hey, Stephen, look at me…"

"…can't…" Ste heard himself gasp faintly, tears springing in his eyes as he tried to clutch his hands to his hair… but his fingers wouldn't move right.

"Ste, it's gonna be alright." Amy breathed gently, and her hand squeezed tightly to his knee, but it just felt hot and claustrophobic… he wanted her to get OFF.

"Alrigh' it's not a fuckin' circus!" He heard Brendan shout to the room, but it sounded far-off, "Everyone get the fuck out of my house!"

"Brendan!"

"I'm serious; get them out Chez, NOW!"

And then Ste felt tough hands on his shoulders, pulling him to his feet, and Brendan's voice mumbling quickly, "C'mon, come lie down…"

"Brendan, we should call a doctor!"

"Jus' take the kids home, Amy."

And he was pulled into a room that felt extremely cold in comparison, and pushed down onto the mattress of the bed. He could still barely see… his vision clouded by faintness and tears, but he focussed immediately on Brendan's penetrating blue eyes that stared right into him…

"Breathe…" Brendan whispered intensely, "'s alright…"

"…I… I can't breathe…"

"You can. Take deep breathes, Stephen, you're jus' havin' a panic attack."

Stephen tried it; sucking in air, but it just couldn't work well enough with his whole body constricting in the efforts. And he was trembling and there was nothing he could do about it. It felt like a black hole… a pitiful black hole that he just wished would suck him up rather than make him deal with this any longer.

"S'alright… s'alright…" Brendan whispered, chanting it over and over almost hypnotically.

"…I can't do it…" Ste croaked, his voice breaking in fear as he tried to grasp the material of Brendan's trousers. But once again, he couldn't hold on. Brendan took hold of his hand instead, and squeezed it tightly.

"You don't think I know how this works?" He said bluntly. "You're not the only one to have gone through this, Stephen, now jus' try and calm down."

"Stay with me."

"I'm goin' to. Jus' try lyin' down. Lie down."

Ste did as he was told, letting his head fall onto the pillow and closing his eyes tightly to stop the ceiling spinning around above him. With his eyes shut it felt like the whole world was rocking violently, about to toss him off at any minute. But he could still feel Brendan's fingers pressing toughly against his own.

When he opened his eyes again it was dark. The curtains were drawn, there was a glass of water by his side, and the duvet was pulled over him. The clock read 4:52am. How did that happen?

He sat up, taking in a long breath. It felt better now... more quiet and serene with just the faint sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen. And glancing around the darkened room, he recognised for the first time that it was Brendan's. Dark grey duvet, plain walls, a framed photo of Dec and Padraig, and a half-empty bottle of scotch on the chest of draws. The faint smell of his aftershave wafted lightly in the air. One of his suits hung on the back of the door.

Brendan wasn't in here though. He must have gone to the spare room to sleep, although Ste wished he wouldn't have. Even now, having just woken up, a surreal sense of isolation and loneliness consumed him. He needed to piss, but he was still wearing his jeans… he couldn't undo the button with his own fucking hands.

"Brendan?"

"Hmm… whassup…"

"Brendan, it's me."

Brendan's eyes peeled open, his fist rubbing instinctively over his lids as he prised himself off the sofa that he'd been sleeping on. Ste felt embarrassed now, waking him for no good reason other than the need for company.

"How ye feelin'?" Brendan asked groggily.

"Better. Thanks." Ste swallowed. "How come you're on the settee?"

"Oh just… in case ye needed anythi… I don't… jus' fell asleep." Brendan dismissed the question uncomfortably, but he'd said enough for Stephen to understand: Ste was in the downstairs bedroom, so Brendan stayed downstairs too… just in case. It filled Ste with both a feeling of embarrassment but also an admitted gratitude at such a gesture.

It even made him feel comfortable enough to slide onto the sofa beside Brendan, fumbling awkwardly with the blanket to get a piece of it over himself as well.

"Alrigh'?" Brendan raised an amused eyebrow.

"Hm." Ste smiled weakly. He felt tired and drained, and resisted the urge to fall against Brendan's naked chest to sleep… which was completely possible right now. "You coulda stayed in the room with me, you know."

"I didn't know if you'd like that."

"Yeah."

"Oh right…" Brendan nodded, thinking those words over in his head and trying to depict the meaning from them. Wasn't Stephen the one adamant on being just friends?

"Maybe next time or somethin'." Ste mumbled quietly.

"Er… yeah, maybe."

Brendan glanced upwards and saw that Stephen was looking at him… his eyes unwavering upon Brendans' face with such vast sincerity it was hard to look away. Those eyes spoke volumes; the pain, the embarrassment, the gratitude, the surprise… and something else. Something Brendan didn't think he'd see in Stephen again. Trust.

And then in one small simple gesture, Ste moved forwards and touched his lips lightly against Brendan's. It wasn't suggestive, but nor was it dispassionate… it was just a kiss. It lasted a mere second, but spoke for so much longer. Before Ste's head nestled gently against Brendan's chest and his eyes sunk shut again.


	15. Chapter 15

Brendan awoke the next morning feeling stiff and achy… aware as soon as he clicked into consciousness that Stephen's breath was against his neck… Stephen's arms were slumped across his shoulders, and Stephen's legs tangled up in his own.

He'd wasn't used to sleeping like this; with another body draped over his. He'd done it with Stephen before, in hotel rooms a couple of times and once at his place, but this time felt different. Not unlikable necessarily, of course not, but it would take some getting used to if this really was to become a regular thing. He wasn't the cuddly-sleeper type. The first thing he noticed about it was that the idea of moving was completely out of the question. He couldn't move for fear of moving Stephen himself, who was wrapped in such a blissful-looking sleep it would be impossibly cold-hearted to stir him. The second thing he noticed was how Stephen had slumped the entirety of his body weight across Brendan's own, and how much pressure that was. His body was fragile, Stephen. He was this surreal combination of northern toughness mixed with youthful delicacy… and even more so with his bones just recently-healed, his skin violently bruised and his mind mixed-up and damaged.

"Morning love." Cheryl whispered as she crept down the stairs. She had a mischievous smirk on her face and her eyebrows raised cheekily as if she'd just caught Brendan in the act or something. It was infuriating.

"Yeah." Brendan just mumbled half-heartedly in return.

"Breakfast?"

"No – can ye just pass me…" Brendan reached for the glass of water that was on the coffee table, but his hand couldn't stretch far enough without shifting his body – currently impossible. "Can ye pass me that please?"

Cheryl watched him struggle, her grin growing even more patronisingly smug.

"Chez, jus' do it." Brendan grumbled.

"You don't wanna disrupt the love-in, eh?" She teased knowingly. "Brendan Brady, aren't you just the _cutest _little love-muffin I've ever se.."

Before she could even finish her sentence, Brendan had practically thrown Stephen off his body, jumping to his feet in an instant and seizing the glass of water himself. His dignity weighed higher in his priorities than giving Stephen a lay-in, that was for sure. Brendan brushed himself down, looking anywhere but at Cheryl's now-shocked expression and Stephen's sleepy disorientated one.

Cheryl turned to Stephen apologetically, "Morning love."

"Hmm…" Stephen mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Not the nicest wake-up call one could imagine.

"Breakfast?"

"Yes please."

"I'll do a fry-up, eh?" Cheryl chimed, and bounced off into the kitchen. A morning person, was Cheryl. Not like Brendan. And evidently not like Stephen either, whose eyes were now batting lazily open and closed as he adjusted to consciousness.

"Sorry." Brendan muttered quietly.

"S'alright."

"D'ye sleep okay?"

"Mm." Stephen nodded, a tender smile playing behind his tired eyes. "Yeah. Sorry… you know, bout last night."

"No, it's alright."

"Probably shouldn't have… you know, with all the music and people an' that."

"Yeah, well that's Cheryl's fault, not yours."

Ste licked his lips nervously for a moment, his eyes fading as he recalled the previous evenings breakdown. "Do you think everyone saw?"

Brendan frowned. "Who cares?"

"Well it's… just embarrassin'."

"Fuck 'em, they're a bunch of wasters, don't worry about it."

"So they _did_ see then?"

"Stephen. I said don't worry about it. You had a panic attack. It happens. And you've got a pretty legitimate excuse, wouldn't ye say?"

"I know, I was jus' sayin', that's all…"

"Well you're gonna have to get used to people knowin', aren't ye?" Brendan snapped.

"Why are you _snappin'_ at me…?"

"I'm not!"

"Well sounds like it to me!" Stephen growled, and hastily started bundling the blanket together that was on the sofa. But with his hands it was clumsy and awkward, and that blanket was doing nothing but being tossed around aimlessly.

"Here, let me…" Brendan sighed.

"NO I can DO it." Stephen lunged angrily after the blanket, but not fast enough; Brendan scooped it up first. Stephen faced him, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shining with genuine sharp fury.

"_Jesus Christ, _did you get out the wrong side of the bed or _what?_"

"Give it here!"

"Stephen, give it a rest, will ye? You've been awake five minutes and yer already doin' my head in!"

And with that Brendan spun on his heel, marching up stairs with the blanket bundled under his arm, mutters of exasperation falling from his lips.

Ste just stood there… aimless.

He turned to Cheryl in the kitchen, but she had determinedly turned her back on their whole little tiff and was continuing her oblivious-act even now. Ste wished she'd just smile at him or something. It was pathetic, he knew… but he felt so isolated. Like he couldn't communicate properly, or help properly… and that fact pawed away at his insides, making him irritable and defensive. He felt like he was an outsider… just getting in the way, even now. Five minutes he'd been here and Brendan was already frustrated with him, and no wonder.

His brain didn't work right. He wasn't who he was before. He was lost like this, and he hated it.

Twenty minutes later, Ste slumped down quietly at the dining room table as Cheryl called for breakfast. Her and Lynsey were joking about something or other, and their loud hysterical cackles were ringing round the kitchen, but Ste couldn't make head-or-tail of what they were saying. He didn't follow. He didn't understand the joke. And they'd look at him expectantly, waiting for him to laugh, and he'd just stare vacantly back at them. He knew he looked stupid, but there was nothing he could do about it. He _was _stupid.

And now he looked down at his fry-up, and Cheryl had cut his sausages into baby-sized bits, manageable to scoop up with the fork, so he didn't have to grip the knife. But even the fork alone was hard enough to wrap his fingers around. He fumbled about, trying to be conspicuous about it and not raise attention as he focused all his energy on manoeuvring his fingers around the fine metal, and lifting. Somewhere deep in his chest he felt the sting of humiliated tears, although he wouldn't let them rise further than there.

Worse still, he _knew _Brendan was watching him… which only served for further humiliation and he wished he'd just _back off _for Christs sake.

Brendan let him persevere for all of ten seconds before he became impatient it seemed. He lifted Ste's fork himself and guided Ste's fingers around it…

"Here, let me help…"

"No!" Ste hissed through gritted teeth, "Brendan, I can do it."

"Oh fuck sake, you're food's gonna go cold at this rate…"

"Just GET OFF."

"Right, FINE." Brendan slammed the fork down angrily, "Fine, whatever you say. Jus' tryin' to help, but FINE."

The kitchen hung in frosty silence. Both Lynsey and Cheryl looked anxiously back and forth from Ste to Brendan, both unsure of what to do now. Brendan just stared down at the table, his shoulders rising and falling under the pressure of his irritation. And Ste just stared down at the fork, which was still rattling slightly from the impact that Brendan had slammed it.

All eyes were on Ste now, and he knew he couldn't lose the dignity of trying to pick the fucking thing up again. His chest shook under the pressure of the shame. The tears felt warm in his throat. Why couldn't Brendan have just _left it? _Why did he have to make everyone _stare? _

Before he knew it, Ste felt the tears strangling his voice-box. He rose to his feet and with the back of his hand he shoved the cutlery furiously from the table.

"You know what Brendan?" He choked through grit teeth, "Why don't you jus' SHOVE it up your arse, yeah?"

After that there was just the harsh sound of his chair scraped backwards, and Ste was marching up the stairs, just as Brendan had done twenty minutes earlier.

XOXOXOXO

The house seemed stiff and quiet once Cheryl and Lynsey left for work. Brendan sat alone in the living room fidgeting absent-mindedly with the takeaway menu, as he had been doing for the last half an hour. Stephen was still upstairs, and after their argument earlier, Brendan didn't know how he'd even begin to strike up a conversation with him. It wasn't even like they fought over anything in particular… they just fought. It was their thing, it seemed.

Maybe it was a bad idea for Stephen to live here after all. It's just when he'd been in hospital Brendan couldn't imagine for a second allowing Stephen to walk back out there; his naïve and trusting self and risk the same thing happen again. Even now, with the lingering feeling of anger in the air, Brendan didn't want to let Stephen out of his sight. It was a surreal and almost sickening notion… but he couldn't bear to do it.

It was something that had consumed Brendan for almost a year now… the constant underlying sickness inside him that kept Stephen lingering in his mind every hour of every day. No matter what else was going on or what he did to distract himself, every trail of thought lost would just flash instinctively back to that familiar face. And then Brendan's insides would boil and ache with the overwhelming need and protectiveness.

It was frightening – caring so much. Frightening to know how it could all be taken away from him… and almost was. He couldn't lose Stephen again. Wouldn't. He'd take every fight, argument and anguished tantrum Stephen threw at him so long as it meant keeping him here and keeping him safe. And maybe it wasn't so bad that Stephen was struggling right now. That kept him inside. Kept him shy and away from other people, and if anything that just made Brendan's job easier. That made everything easier, while they were protected inside these walls.

XOXOXOX

It was two and a half hours since Ste had left the breakfast table before he heard the knock on the bedroom door.

"Stephen? Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Ste mumbled.

He was sat on the bed in the spare bedroom, a bunch of Cheryl's shitty celebrity-gossip magazines laid out in front of him just to keep him occupied, although he didn't know most of the names in there. His stomach had been grumbling for a couple of hours but he'd ignored it; determined not to go back down there and have Brendan make something for him. He just wanted to do it _himself. _And as stubborn and childish as it sounded, he'd rather starve right now than lose the dignity of not being able to.

Again, Brendan seemed to read his mind.

"Stephen, you gotta let us help you, otherwise what's the point of you bein' here?"

"I know." Ste muttered weakly, finding it hard to meet Brendan's eye. He knew he'd over-reacted earlier, and that was now just ANOTHER thing to be embarrassed about. And he didn't know why he felt like this. He'd accepted weeks ago that he'd have to allow people to support him, but he couldn't shake away the sensation of loneliness and paranoia. It consumed him. It put him on edge.

"It's just hard." He added quietly.

Brendan drew a heavy sigh and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, far apart from where Ste was. Then he lifted his left hand, and held out the blueberry muffin he'd just gone out and gotten from the newsagent. It wasn't much, but at least Stephen could eat it without a fork.

A small appreciative smile wavered on Stephen's lips, as he slowly manoeuvred his fingers around to grasp hold of the snack. This time Brendan was patient and waited until Stephen had a definite hold on it before letting go.

They sat in there in silence for a while after that; Stephen eating and Brendan looking round at the plain white walls… the unfurnished surroundings. He didn't want Stephen sleeping in this room; he wanted Stephen in with him, as suggested yesterday. He'd even take the sofa, rather than this. Before he had a chance to make the proposal though, Stephen struck him with the one question he didn't want to hear.

"Brendan…" Ste spoke quietly, "What about your Dad?"

Brendan felt his breath hitch slightly. He knew the question would come at some point, but he'd kind of expected Stephen to avoid it for a little while longer. The room must still STINK of bastard, and that's why he'd thought of it.

"Wh… what do you mean?" Brendan asked, biding his time.

"You know what I mean. What happened to 'im? Where is he?"

"Ye don't need to worry about that."

"Well, I do actually…"

"He's not gonna bother you Stephen."

"Why not?" Ste demanded. His voice wasn't angry or accusational… it actually held the soft composure of somebody willing to understand… to connect. But Ste wouldn't understand this, and Brendan couldn't make him.

"Please." He whispered, "Can't ye just trust me? He's not gonna bother ye. Never again. I swear."

Ste swallowed, carefully placing the muffin onto the mattress with shaking fingers. "You would tell me… if you did somethin' bad. Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You promise?"

Brendan swallowed thickly. Stephen was staring fiercely into his eyes like it was a matter of life and death, and even though that gaze had been easy to lie to in the past, it just felt cruel now knowing that the stakes were so high in regards to Stephen's feeling of safety.

Brendan chose his words carefully. "You'll know, Stephen. You will."

An intense silence filled the room as those words weighed down in each of their minds, and their eyes continued to lock heavily on one another as if their lives depended on that gaze being maintained. It was as if the longer they stared, the more trust they felt… the more words and emotions were passed between each other without even having to use words.

And Brendan felt himself shuffling over, and Stephen too, subconsciously drawing closer to each other until they were in the middle of the mattress, and Brendan's hands were cupping Stephen's face and neck as their lips hovered inches apart. And the whole time, the intenseness of their gaze never faltered.

Brendan ran his fingers softly down the bruising on Stephen's neck; just enough for him to feel it but not enough for it to hurt much. Slowly, his fingers trailed down, down to the small of his back, the bottom of his shirt.

Stephen was the one to break first; he pushed their lips together, sighing to himself as once again he tasted Brendan's mouth, and the intensity of their locked lips grew tougher and more passionate. Ste felt his lips trapped between Brendans, and then Brendan's teeth, and then his tongue pushing inside. He felt his own legs wrapping themselves over Brendans lap, straddling him, pushing them closer and closer together; as close as possible.

It has been far too long since they'd shared this. And he wanted it so badly. It had been nearly 7 months since he'd slept with Brendan… since he'd slept with _anybody_… that day when Brendan told him those three simple words.

"I love you." Ste whispered.

Suddenly Brendan pulled away, and Ste's lips felt cold and mouth empty for a moment. He opened his eyes, startled.

But Brendan wasn't angry – not like Ste had for a millisecond feared. Instead Brendan's eyes shone with surprise. With genuine and emotional surprise. Almost as if he didn't know… almost as if Ste hadn't told him before, even though he _had. _

"What?" Ste muttered, confused. "You know I do…"

"I er…" Brendan swallowed. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry. His chest felt heavy and his stomach knotted. He never ever thought he'd hear Stephen say such words again. He'd resigned to that fact, and almost gotten used to it. "I thought you'd… you know… stopped."

"No." Ste shook his head gently. His eyes glistened with intense seriousness, but there was a fraction of a smile playing across his swollen lips. But he was frustrated. And Brendan raised an amused eyebrow as Stephen's hands fumbled awkwardly at the zip of Brendan's jeans, unable to grip it, but absolutely desperate to.

"Brendan, c'mon!" Stephen whined.

Brendan grinned, wrapping his arms around Stephen's back and pushing him backwards, so now Brendan was lying above him. He felt Stephens chest bouncing up and down as he breathed, arching himself eagerly against Brendan's body; horny little fucker.

Brendan pulled Stephen's t-shirt off in one smooth motion, discarding it to the side of the room. He sucked tightly onto Stephen's mouth, moved down to kiss his chin, to lick his neck, his collar-bone; the whole time feeling Stephen squirm and pant in anticipation… Stephen's arms wrapped frightfully tight around Brendan's neck.

Brendan released himself from Stephens hold to allow himself to sink lower, pressing kisses to Stephen's chest, his stomach…

It was only when Brendan opened his eyes that things slowed down. The first real time that Brendan fully saw what he was dealing with:

Stephen's skin was still caressed with sick black bruising. His chest still shone with a fresh-looking gash, his rib cage had the red outline of a bruise… a bruise recognisably shaped like a boot.

"Brendan." Stephen hissed impatiently. He didn't want Brendan to observe him the way he was doing now; with sympathy and care. He wanted Brendan to take him; rough and mindless, the way they did in the old days at Chez Chez when Brendan had held himself off long enough; and they were both at the brink of their patience. "Brendan, c'mon."

But Brendan wasn't listening. He seemed stunned into silence… haunted and preoccupied as he took in the bruises and damage that had been inflicted onto Stephen's body. The body that belonged to Brendan, and Brendan alone.

And then slowly his lips pressed down onto the bruise on Stephen's hip bone – the most painful one of all of them – and held there firmly, leaving behind a red mark as he moved onto the next bruise, and did the same thing.

Ste fell still, letting his head fall back against the bed and allowing his body to relax as Brendan continued… his lips stroking each and every bruise and cut that lined Stephen's skin. Ste closed his eyes, and allowed his body to be wrapped and cared for in Brendan's embrace; like the slow repair of every wound that the hospital couldn't fix.

Finally, Brendan's lips rested on the swelling at the bottom of Stephen's neck, and his kissed just where his moustache tickled the most… evoking a quiet snigger from Stephen as his body squirmed impulsively. His laughter was interrupted abruptly though… for the next thing he knew, Brendan was speaking –

"I love you too, Stephen."

And then Ste's mind was lost in a haze of emotion and sensation as Brendan rid him of his jeans, enwrapped him in the familiar arms and eventually moved inside him, their bodies synching together again as they grasped and clung and moaned into one another, climaxed together, and eventually fell asleep once more, tangled in one anothers naked embraces.


	16. Chapter 16

I WAS going to cram more drama into this chapter, but I figure there needs to be a little bit of breathing-space to establish feelings and relationships etc. So in some ways I guess this is a bit of a filler-chapter, but hopefully will still keep your interest. :)

XOXOXOX

Ste felt so exhausted and lethargic he could have no doubt slept all day and all night, but at 5.30pm he was stirred by a familiar nightmare. It was one he'd had repeatedly in hospital – one which was ambiguous and mystifying but always woke him with a violent shiver and sweat plastered to his forehead. The staff at the hospital said it was normal; that he should get used to it for a while. They also said to expect hallucinations too, and they'd given him pills to ease the distress of it a bit. Where were they now?

Ste sat up quietly, his naked body covered in goose-bumps, but he couldn't risk trying to get dressed – he'd only fuck it up and wake Brendan. He crossed the room to the big rucksack of his stuff which he hadn't opened yet. The pills must be in there somewhere. He pulled the zipper roughly across with his teeth and emptied the contents to the floor. Out fell everything that Amy had packed for him; clothes, aftershave, a few DVD's, his ipod, some drawings from the kids… he couldn't see the pills. And FUCK, he needed them.

He felt his heart-rate start to rise uncomfortably as he began shoving the stuff around, searching all pockets and emptying all the containers, growing gradually more erratic and frantic as his blood ran cold around his veins, the disjointed images from the nightmare threatening to seep into his consciousness…

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" he muttered to himself, "FUCK!"

"Stephen?" Brendan's sleepy mumble sounded from the bed.

Ste didn't even care about waking him now. "Brendan, where are the pills?"

"The wha'…?"

"The pills! The fuckin' pills – they gave 'em to you or Amy the day before I left and I need 'em, where are they?"

"They gave me a few – which ones do ye need?"

"The BLUE ones!"

Brendan looked at him seriously for a second, and Ste felt his insides clench in frustration; why wasn't he _moving? _He needed to _hurry, _this was an _emergency!_

"The BLUE ones Brendan!" he repeated frantically.

"Stephen, you need to calm down."

"NO, just GET them! – What's the matter with you?"

"Stephen, look at yourself!" Brendan cried. "You're actin' insane, okay? I'm gonna get them now, but you need to relax."

Brendan got off the bed, pulled a dressing-gown around himself and left the room… all too slow for Ste's liking. He didn't understand, did he? He thought Ste was being stupid because he couldn't _feel _what Ste was feeling; the rising panic, the churning stomach, the mass of surreal dark images swirling in the back of his mind… images he didn't understand but bought him a sense of deep doom.

"Here." Brendan said shortly when he returned. He was holding a small container full of the blue pills, tipped one into Stephen's palm and watched with a small hint of exasperation as Ste necked it back in one.

"I had that dream again." Ste explained quietly, wincing as the pill slowly moved down his throat.

"Yeah, I know. It scared ye."

"It didn't _scare _me." Ste argued. "It jus' doesn't feel good."

"You were bein' a scardy-cat."

"No! It's not like that!" Ste looked upwards angrily… only to find Brendan was grinning at him. He was winding him up. His eyes were shining with mischievousness as he continued to gently mock him:

"Stephen, I told ye before there aren't monsters under the bed."

"Shut up." Ste mumbled, his cheeks reddening as he tried to prevent the small amused smile creeping onto his face.

"Ye want a bed-time story to get you off aga…"

"I _said _shut up!" Ste pushed his fist lightly against Brendan's bare chest, but his commandment came out more as a snigger. He smiled sheepishly. Okay… so maybe he _was _being a tiny bit stupid. Just a tiny bit.

He felt better with the pill now anyway, and as he got dressed into some more comfy jogging bottoms he made a mental note to keep the pills in his pocket from now on… much safer that way.

Brendan helped him pull on one of the jumpers Amy had packed for him, and just so it wasn't too demeaning, Ste pretended to help Brendan do the same thing, until they were both decently covered up and slumped on the sofa once more. Brendan put on one of the DVDs, 'District 9', and as they munched on maltezers and watched it, Ste realised something - This was the first time he and Brendan had ever watched TV together before.

It was a strange observation to make, really. It felt in many ways like he and Brendan had spent a whole lifetime together… like they knew each other in and out, for better and for worse… and yet an act as simple as this was alien to them.

It was nice.

It was really, really nice.

Brendan even jumped out of his skin at one of the more tense and scary moments, and Ste couldn't help but erupt with laughter; intensely amused by Brendan's genuine embarrassment at having let his guard down.

Now it was Brendan's turn to mutter a sheepish, "Shut up."

"Aw, do ya wanna hold my hand?" Ste smirked

Brendan just rolled his eyes, but his face was definitely slightly flushed with embarrassment. Ste felt his heart tug fondly at the sight.

The second – and more annoying – discovery was that Brendan was one of those people who talked through films. At first, Ste didn't really notice it; it was just nice to sit together and chat rubbish like normal people. But as Brendan's subconscious mutterings became more regular, Ste started to sense the pattern; the blatant lack of movie-etiquette that Brendan had.

"Why would he do that?"

"Oh c'mon, fucking run."

"Which one is that one?"

"It's obvious he's not well, what's he even thinkin'?"

"He's not gonna fall for that."

"Yeah right; like he'd fall for that. No way."

"That's a stupid move."

"What did he jus' say?"

"Stephen, what did he jus' say?"

"Fuck, I missed what he said."

"I know!" Ste finally groaned; half-amused and half-exasperated, "Cos you talked through it, didn't ya? COURSE you missed it!"

"Alrigh', don't get yer knickers in a twist, just wind it back."

"No, you don't even get it; just let _me_ watch the end."

"I… of course I get it; It's just stupid."

"Brendan, it's just a film!"

"Yeah but it's not realistic." Brendan sat bolt upright, dead serious, dead intent on explaining his analysis to Stephen. "If he'd have had any sense there's no way he'd have trusted that funny blo–-"

"Uh! Brendan!" Ste cut him off sharply, pushing a brave hand into Brendan's face as he tried to fend off his incessant scrutiny. "I'm tryin' to watch it, yeah?"

"Are you tellin' me to shut up?" Brendan blurted, incredulous.

"Yes! Shut up! Stop talkin'!" Ste kept his eyes fixated on the screen, trying to ignore Brendan's perplexed and disbelieving expression at having been shot down in such a way.

For a while Brendan was silent, and Ste wandered whether he'd returned to watching the film or whether he had gone into some kind of Brendan-like sulk. It seemed to be the latter, for he eventually retorted moodily; "It's _my_ TV ye know, Stephen. I can turn it off at any time."

To which Ste only replied with an even more infuriating, "Shhhhh."

After that Brendan got off the sofa and moved over to the dining room table to fiddle about on his laptop. Ste smirked. The initial warm feeling of watching a film together made him long a little bit for Brendan to come back, but he also felt a strong sense of satisfaction and glee at having won the disagreement with integrity in tact.

XOXOXOXO

Living in the Brady house for three days, with Brendan taking each of those days off work had been like a safe bubble for Ste. He would still get upset, embarrassed and anxious, but it was okay because Brendan seemed to be patient – or at least tolerate it at this stage. On the third night Ste went to sleep in Brendan's bedroom. They'd had sex again, and then talked a little bit, and fallen asleep – arms wrapped around and everything.

Ste lay parcelled against Brendan's chest, with Brendan's arm wrapped tight and protectively around his shoulders, and reflected for a moment. It was mad, this. All of this. Him moving in and now them being like this together… it was what Stephen had always wanted them to share. It was what he'd pined and nagged and strived for them to have for over a year – but it had always been impossible. And now, seemingly out of their control, without hardly any effort being put into it at all – they were here. As if by default. Sleeping together and talking together and spending the whole day in one another's company. Bickering and laughing. Like normal people. Almost like… a couple. Like the couple he never thought they could be.

It was crazy, Ste thought, how things worked out.

Of course, the only snag was the circumstances that had bought them here. And as Ste lay now pressed into Brendan's body, he couldn't help his mind wandering to less optimistic thoughts…

He still didn't know what had happened to Brendan's dad. A huge part of him didn't want to know. A huge part of him wanted to forget it – forget him, because whenever he thought back to that day when Mr Brady had ordered his bones to be broken, it made his body quiver in fear and loathing and haunting memories.

And yet he knew there was something to be feared in Brendan's haste to erase Mr Brady from their memories. He knew Brendan had been furious, vengeful. And he'd seen Brendan act on those sort of emotions before. He just couldn't bear to think what Brendan might of done… because if he knew, it might not be so easy to hold him now, and feel safe.

And he needed to feel safe. Nothing worked anymore; not his hands, not his mind fully. He often lost his trail of thought, and he was suffering nightmares, panic attacks, detachment from reality. He'd often find himself blinking out of a long daze and finding Cheryl laughing at him saying "I've been speaking to you for about 15 minutes – have you not been listening?"

It was disorientating and surreal.

But closeted within these walls, with Brendan's watchful gaze always lingering, there was a feeling of protection that he didn't want to tamper with.

Which bought him to his final concern… at some point he'd have to leave the house. Amy had already called at some point saying she was taking the kids to the park, and did Ste want to come? He made up some excuse about being knackered. But in all honesty, the idea of stepping out right now sent a small shiver of trepidation crusading through his spine. He didn't want to deal with people looking, people knowing, people talking at him and him not being able to concentrate properly on their words.

He knew it was irrational, but all he wanted was to stay in his house forever and demand that Brendan stay with him, because things were easier that way.

And on Tuesday, he heard the situation being addressed.

"Brendan, you can't keep him LOCKED indoors, he needs to start getting back to normal!"

Ste lingered back in the shadows. It was 11:03am, and Brendan and Cheryl were having breakfast. They thought Ste was still asleep. And he would let them think that.

"Give him a chance, Chez, it's been four days!"

"Yes and the sooner he gets back into his old routine the better, surely?"

"What the hell do you know about it?"

"I know you're being over-protective." Cheryl stated, bluntly.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"All I said was he should come visit Chez Chez, jog his memories a bit… and you acted like I was throwing him into a pack of wolves!"

"He's NOT ready yet."

"Have you ASKED him?"

"I don't need to ask him!" Brendan insisted. "I'm tellin' ye. He's not ready."

"He's not an invalid Brendan. You can't keep him here wrapped in cotton wool for the rest of your lives, okay?"

"Can you shut up now? Please."

"Love," Cheryl sighed deeply. Her voice went soft, quiet, sincere. Ste couldn't see, but he imagined her holding Brendan's arm the way she did, up in his face and searching for eye-contact. "I know you want to look out for him; I get that. But it's not a big-bad-world out there, okay? It's safe. And he's a big boy."

"Give it a rest, yeah?" Brendan grunted.

"It's not your place to keep him locked away just so YOU can feel important and needed…"

"Cheryl! Seriously! We're done here. Okay? We're done."

Creak.

Ste flinched. He'd put too much pressure on his left foot, and the floorboards had squeaked, giving away his hiding position. Both Cheryl and Brendan shut up immediately, and Ste shuffled awkwardly through the bedroom door to join them at the dining table.

"Mornin'." He mumbled quietly.

"Morning love." Cheryl smiled. Her big fake cringe-worthy grin that she used when she was trying to diffuse tension. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"And all ready for Rodger to come today?"

"Yeah." Ste nodded and slipped into the seat beside Brendan, who passed over his plate of toast immediately.

Cheryl glanced at Brendan uncertainly, and then mumbled, "Um… Ste… I was actually wandering if you fancied comin' into work with me today? After your physiotherapy, I mean."

"Chez." Brendan hissed.

"Only it's just because the rest of the staff miss you, that's all, and it might do you good; a bit of fresh air…"

"Um. Yeah. Maybe." Ste muttered uncomfortably. "I'll see later."

"Okay. Well I could come pick you up around 3… that's when Rodger's leaving isn't…"

"Chez!" Brendan spluttered angrily, "What's with all the pressure? He said maybe."

"_Alright _Brendan."

"Just leave it alone."

"Okay okay!" Cheryl sighed dramatically, rising and pulling her handbag over her shoulder. "I know when I'm not wanted in my own home. Gees. I'll give you a call later, Ste."

And she marched out of the door.

The house resumed it's calm tranquillity and peaceful silence once more.

Ste frowned, and turned to Brendan, "I thought you were goin' back to work today…?"

"Yeah, well. Few more days won't hurt."

Ste felt his chest surge with a wave of gratitude and happiness. Truth be told he wasn't very much looking forward to tottering about on his own for half the day. And he was enjoying Brendan's company lately – a lot. And yet he knew there was more to Brendan's change-of-plan than just kindness.

"It's cos of Rodger, innit?"

Brendan gulped back his tea aggressively. Ste could recognise the immediate small sign of irritation in his expression as his cheek ticked. "What is?"

"You. Stayin' here."

Brendan sighed, acting as though he was bored by the conversation. "Is that right?"

Ste smirked. He knew it. "You're well paranoid, you!"

"Yeah well Stephen, not all of us jus' blindly open our doors to complete strangers, alright? It's common sense."

"He's not a stranger, he's a professional."

"Yeah, who just-so-happens to be _kind_ enough to do door-to-door visits, right? He's a fuckin' do-gooder, okay, and ye should never trust a do-gooder."

Ste rolled his eyes. "Right. Doesn't matter that he's helpin' me then?"

"Ye don't need his help. He just wants you to think that."

"Urh, you're not gonna say any of this to him are ya?"

"I might do."

"Well don't! I like him. He's a nice bloke."

"Yeah, and a few weeks ago you took a drink off a _nice bloke, _Stephen, and look where it's landed ye! Christ, you never bloody learn do you?"

Brendan tossed the plate abruptly into the sink, his back completely turned but his physique still obviously tensed. But Ste couldn't help but smile. So _that's _what this was about. It wasn't jealousy or possessiveness at all… it wasn't Brendan trying to be the big I-Am and it wasn't Brendan marking his territory…. It was Brendan being _afraid _because of what happened last time he let a guy move in too close to Ste.

Ste felt his chest swell fondly. Brendan was _worried _about him. Because Brendan _cared _about him. Like he said just yesterday… he _loved _him.

Brendan jumped in surprise when he felt Ste's arms snake gently around him, linking around his stomach, and Ste's nose nuzzling softly into Brendan's back. It was an embrace so delicately innocent that he almost felt uncomfortable and shook the lad off. But nobody was watching. And it kind of felt warm and nice when he ignored the indignity of it. He let Ste trap him there for a good few seconds longer.

"You don't have to worry about me, you know." Ste spoke matter-a-factly.

"Yeah, but I do." He muttered gruffly, coughing slightly to cover the awkwardness of such a confession.

"Hm. That's alright."

Ste sighed softly and released his arms, letting Brendan turn and face him. They studied each other sincerely.

"So, um…" Ste licked his lips. "Can I tell Rodger that you're like… a boyfriend, then?"

Brendan tensed. And Ste immediately feared he'd said the wrong thing; broken the intimacy of the moment. But once again – as he had done so many times in the last few weeks – Brendan surprised him.

"Stephen, that better be the _first _thing you say to 'im."

Ste let out a laugh of genuine exhilarated contentment. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't want him gettin' any funny ideas."

"Alright."

"An' if he suddenly isn't available for door-to-door helpfulness anymore, we'll know I was right, won't we?"

Ste sniggered. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"Alright. Go get dressed then. Or not. Whatever the case may be."

It seemed only absolutely fitting in that moment that Ste choose _not _to do so, and despite all his fears and reservations in that moment, as he and Brendan collapsed nakedly onto the bed once again, he felt happier than he'd ever been.


	17. Chapter 17

It felt so natural, being together like this. Even in the way they moved; legs wrapped around tightly and lips pressed against skin and fingers tangled in one anothers till the sweat was covering them head to toe. Their bodies interlocked and moving rhythmically… instinctively. Stephen's pants were building up; his breath against Brendan's neck. His arms were clasped around Brendan's body; his nails digging tightly to the skin of Brendan's back. His legs were wrapped tightly around too; pulling Brendan closer and closer in. He bit down on his lip tightly to stop the moans coming out too loud.

"Come 'ere." Brendan heard himself pant, as he buried his lips into the small of Stephen's neck, drowning out the sounds of his own increasing gasps for breath. He'd missed this. Christ, he'd missed this so fucking much. Being inside Stephen, wrapped around him, surrounding him, absorbed in him. He missed Stephen's loud heated gasps as he built up to climax and his bright-eyed smile afterwards. He'd missed the way Stephen plastered his own body against Brendan's own once they'd come down from their respective orgasms, regardless of how hot or sticky he was, he'd nestle in close. Even if Brendan pushed him over, feeling too claustrophobic, Stephen would still somehow nuzzle his way back into Brendan's arms during his sleep.

"Ahh, shit…" Stephen hissed as he arched his back off the mattress, stretching his chest to meet Brendan's, draw him closer inside. They thrust against each other, the friction building as Brendan frantically pounded into him, pushing him towards climax. "Fffff… shit shit shit…"

"Come on," Brendan grunted through gritted teeth, building the speed faster and faster until Stephen was positively squirming with need underneath him. He pressed his sweat-soaked forehead against Stephen's and let Stephen's lustful whimpers caress his eardrums. "C'mon, c'mon."

Brendan pumped his hand on Stephen's cock; taking over the job Stephen's own fingers were currently unable to manoeuvre. It only took a couple more thrusts before Stephen cried out beneath him, climaxing; his own hands ever-faithfully clutching with frantic need to the flesh of Brendan's neck. Brendan only thrust a couple more times before a heated moan escaped his own lips. He pushed himself feverishly into Stephen's welcoming body and pushed his mouth against Stephen's own, wrapping his tongue around Stephen's to muffle the sounds of their intense comedown.

They lay there for some time, soaked in sweat and come and silence, listening to nothing but their own hammering hearts and heavy breathing. As usual, Stephen was the first to break the tranquillity.

"Bren?"

"Mmhm?"

"Wha' time is it?"

With all the remaining energy in his body, Brendan groaned and lifted his arm to check his watch. 2:35pm. Which meant _Rodger_ would be here soon. Which meant Stephen would get out of bed, get cleaned, get dressed. He would probably need help doing that, which would require Brendan to drag himself up as well. And then he'd let Rodger invade their sanctuary, and probably greet him with that massive wide-eyed grin which should be reserved for Brendan and Brendan only.

"We've got loadsa time." Brendan mumbled.

"Why? What time is it?"

"What, ye don't trust me?"

"I just wanna know the time." Stephen muttered drowsily, prodding Brendan in the chest in an annoyingly childlike manor (something he'd started to exercise in order to infuriate Brendan into submission.)

"It's 1:30." Brendan lied. "Jus' get some sleep or somethin'."

The room went quiet for a moment and Brendan felt sure he'd fooled him. But then Stephen started to fidget against the side of him; restless, unsure.

"Are you sure, Bren? S'not 2:30?"

"I just said, didn't I? I'm tryin' to sleep, Stephen."

Eventually Stephen sighed, and collapsed back against Brendan's body; fatigue getting the better of him. Whether he was fully convinced, Brendan didn't know, but all that mattered at this point was he clearly didn't care, and within a good five minutes Stephen's breaths turned deep and slow. He was asleep.

So when the knock at the door came at 3:00 _exactly, _it was all too easy for Brendan to ignore it. After a good minute, Rodger knocked again, louder. Brendan looked cautiously to Stephen… he was asleep, deeply, but it might not take much more to stir him. Rodger knocked again; Christ, he was persistent.

Brendan heaved himself out of the bed, shoving on some jeans and a shirt, which he didn't have time to button, before marching towards the front door.

He hoisted it open.

"What?"

Rodger's face was infuriatingly impartial. His square glasses framed his relatively young-looking face to even out the freshness with an air of distinction. He gave Brendan a short patient smile.

"Afternoon Mr Brady. I'm here for Ste's appointment."

"Yeah, about that. Change of plan." Brendan breezed noncommittally. His voice held the air of casual impatience, but he fixed Rodger with a stare that kept this serious and promised aggression should it be called for.

"Oh. When I spoke to Ste yesterday he said…"

"Like I said. Change - of - plan."

Rodger seemed to review this for a moment. And then sighed. Christ, what was this guys problem? Was it in his job description to be an annoying persistent little shit?

"Mr Brady, it's very important that Ste makes his physiotherapy appointments. If not it could really stall his progress. And nobody wants that, do they?"

"Preachin' to the choir, mate. Ye think I wanna be waitin' on him hand and foot day in day out?"

"Well then…"

"Thing is he'd rather be out with his ex right now, apparently."

"He's not home?"

"No, he's not."

Rodger sighed, frustration and impatience breaking through his façade for the first time.

"Right, well if that's all." Brendan snapped, and began to push the door shut.

"Wait, hold on!"

Brendan let out an inward sigh. If he hung about here any longer he'd risk Stephen catching him in the act, and that would just be _awkward._

"Wha'?"

"Tell Ste to call me, alright?" Rodger said plainly. "Really, it's crucial he attends these sessions. And if he's okay going out now, well then maybe we can arrange for him to visit the hospital later today, yeah?"

"I'll tell him."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Bye bye." Brendan muttered dryly, again pushing the door shut.

"And the next time he wants to cancel, try and make sure I'm pre-warned if that's o…"

SLAM.

Brendan slumped down onto the sofa, switching on the TV and channel surfing for something half decent. He lazily set about doing up the buttons on his shirt, letting his mind wander as he did so to the incredible session of uninterrupted sex they'd just embarked upon. Fuck, he wanted more. He wanted it all the time, and with Stephen that felt like a perfectly feasible conquest. He had to restrain himself from marching back into that bedroom now and shaking him awake.

Even more worryingly… he had to restrain himself from going in there just to watch him sleep. Fuck. Had he really gotten that soft? He found it best not to dwell on those sorts of things.

He found it best not to dwell over the fact he couldn't stand Stephen talking to a physiotherapist, just because it meant for that short hour, Rodger would be more important to Stephen's health and safety than he was. He found it best not to dwell over the fact he had been watching Stephen like a hawk over the last two weeks, cautious to the point of obsessive over every step Stephen took towards recovery, because recovery would mean independence… and Brendan didn't feel prepared to give him that. Not yet.

The truth was, this is something Brendan had wanted for a long time: Stephen all to himself. Stephen had got what he wanted too: a "boyfriend" or whatever he wanted to call it. They were both alright now, while they were here, within these walls. No twats trying to interfere in their life and no blokes moving in on Stephen, exploiting his good-nature and showing Brendan up as the fuck-up he really was.

Things were alright like this. Just sex and talk and the occasional argument, which Brendan didn't mind; he liked to fight things out as much as the next person, and he enjoyed that feisty side to Stephen. He didn't want anybody else to get a piece of that. Not anyone; not even Amy, not even Cheryl. Stephen was HIS.

And he tried not to dwell on the fact that he would do whatever it took to keep it that way. He tried not to think about the lengths he'd go to to keep Stephen close, because now he had it, he certainly wasn't letting it go. Ever.

"Brendan?"

Brendan turned. It was starting to get dark in the room… how long had he been lost in thought? Stephen looking at him from the kitchen, his expression dark and stony.

"You alright?" Brendan said, already pre-empting confrontation. "Sleep well?"

"Brendan, what time is it?"

"You tell me, you're the one holdin' the clock."

Stephen slammed the bedroom alarm clock down on the dining room table – hard.

"It's FIVE THIRTY!" He shouted.

"So?"

"So WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? Where's Rodger?"

"Gone."

A thousand expressions passed Stephen's face all in the space of a second: anger, surprise, confusion, upset, fury… and then fierceness, as he spoke in a low and dangerous voice, "You better be jokin'."

"No. You were asleep, Stephen, so he left."

"WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP?"

"I didn't want to bother ye!"

"Oh please!"

"What?"

"Yeah right! I bet that's what you planned all along, innit? Just cos you don't want Rodger comin' round!"

"So set yer own fuckin' alarm Stephen; since when did I become your slave?"

"I…" Stephen spluttered, incredulous. "You SAID I could stay here so you could HELP!"

"And I am doin'!"

"That's not HELPIN' is it? That's the opposite of helpin'. I NEED HIM!"

"You don't _need _him."

"Brendan!" Stephen yelled out in fury. He was shaking. Christ, he really was getting worked up. Maybe Brendan had crossed the line this time. Stephen did seem pretty desperate to get his recovery moving along quickly. But all these doctors just wanted to make him dependent, the fuckers, when Stephen didn't realise he could do it on his own. _They _could do it _together. _

"GOD I just…" Stephen paced about, stressed, his teeth grit and fingers shaking, "I HATE you when you're like this."

"Bit over-dramatic, don't ye think?"

"NO!" He spat, fists clenched by his sides like he was having some adolescent tantrum. In fact, Brendan could have sworn he saw the beginning of tears in his eyes, but Stephen kept them valiantly from surfacing.

"Alright, look, it wont happen again, okay?" Brendan sighed, exasperated. "Come here."

"No."

"Christ, don't be such a baby Stephen."

"No, I'm goin' to Amy's."

"Fff… are you SERIOUS? This is a massive over-reaction!"

"No, I mean it, I am."

Stephen marched into the bedroom, and Brendan could hear the sounds of things being moved about frantically. He was serious. He was really pissed this time. So much for the mind-blowing round-two of sex Brendan had been planning.

"Stephen, come on." He sighed, following him into the bedroom.

But Stephen wasn't packing a bag as Brendan had imagined. Instead he was rummaging frenziedly through the drawers, his whole body physically shaking now. He was looking for the pills. The shit chemicals Stephen thought calmed him down. The ones the hospital used to sedate and control. Bullshit.

"Can you open that please?" Stephen snapped shortly, thrusting the tub of pills into Brendan's chest, but not stopping for a moment to look at him. THEN he started gathering together some clothes.

"You're not really goin' to Amy's? Cos I let you SLEEP IN?"

"You don't understand, do ya?" Ste cried out. "Brendan, I _need _to get better! I got kids I gotta look after, I got money I need to make! I can't… you can't…"

"_Alright_…" Brendan tried to soothe. It was a notion he was inexperienced in, and his words came out more impatient than he would have liked.

"NO, IT'S NOT ALRIGHT! I'm _sick _of… of you doin' stuff for me… of me not bein' able to do stuff myself! And I need Rodger to help me, Brendan, I don't CARE if you like him or not, he's here for ME and it's nothin' to do with YOU!"

"I said _okay _didn't I?"

"Whatever! Can you just give me them pills please?"

Brendan handed Ste the opened tub, and Ste necked two of them back immediately.

"Kay, can we just…" Ste took a deep breath, calming himself. "Can we _please _jus' go to Amy's, then we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"I'm not going to Amy's."

"Not comin' in, just _walkin' _there with me."

"What? You said you wanted to do stuff on your own, so do stuff on your own." Brendan spoke plainly.

He knew it was harsh. Stephen hadn't been to his own home since he got back from hospital, and things were still vague and hazy for him… it was unlikely he'd remember the way completely. Even if he did, Brendan knew he'd feel disorientated and intimidated in the open space alone. It was a temporary symptom of the brain damage that the doctors had warned them about.

But still. Too bad. Brendan didn't want him to go. So he wouldn't go. Brendan wouldn't lose him. Not over something so stupid and petty.

"Fine, I'll go on my own." Ste said. But his voice sounded small and unsure suddenly.

Now it was a battle of the wills; who would cave first?

Well it sure as hell wouldn't be Brendan.

And despite all his inhibitions SCREAMING at him not to let Stephen do it, he watched Stephen step out of the front door for the first time since arriving here. Stephen looked nervous – even slightly sick – but Brendan could tell he was trying to keep that fact hidden. He walked hesitantly down the steps, and Brendan stood at the top, arms folded, keeping up the façade of nonchalance.

He knew Stephen wouldn't get far.

He knew as soon as Stephen got to the bottom of the steps and realised he couldn't remember which way to go, he'd be straight back.

And he was right.

Stephen was back within seconds; his expression mortified, ashamed, hurt and angry. But Brendan wouldn't let that ruin the moment. Stephen _needed _him. Completely. He _knew it. _

"Come on." He said softly, wrapping his arm around Stephen's shoulders and guiding him back into the house. Back to where he belonged.

"You're an arsehole, you know." Stephen mumbled quietly. But his heart wasn't in it. He'd resigned to the fact he needed Brendan around. So much so that seconds later his arms wrapped tightly around Brendan's waist and he squeezed.

Brendan rested his chin on the top of Stephen's head. Status quo revived.

"It's alright, Stephen." He sighed. "You're better off here."


	18. Chapter 18

**It's a shame this fic is taking a slightly darker turn, because what with recent events on the show I really would like to be writing something a little more gushy. If I get time I'll write a gushy one-shot. **

**Anyway, sorry this has taken SOOOOO long! I haven't had any time recently at all. But here you go. Better late than never, eh? xx**

**xoxoxoxo**

Ste was curled up on the sofa, feeling exhausted and a bit useless, slumped in front of the TV whilst Brendan sat at the dining table doing some paperwork. It was an hour and a half since Ste had tried to storm off to Amy's, before facing the heartbreaking realisation that he couldn't even cross the street on his own anymore… he couldn't remember his surroundings and nor did he feel safe in them. He and Brendan hadn't really spoken much since; the house was wrapped in silence. Not angry, not uncomfortable… just quiet, as both took a breather from one another following the high emotions of before.

Ste clutched his phone in his palm, awkwardly prodding the buttons the scroll down the countless texts he'd received from Amy over the past few days:

"Ste, gonna pop round with the kids in 5. That ok? A x"

"give me a call and let me know you're okay. A x"

"Ste, u need to get out of house. Lets go cinema? A x"

"Cheryl says u r ok but would be good to see you soon. A x"

"got a call from rodger. Y are you skipping appointments? CALL ME. A x"

"also the kids are missing u. come to the park? A x"

"I'm coming round this evening. We need to talk. A x"

Ste sighed, pushing his phone back into his jean pocket. So she'd heard from Rodger then. She would not be happy about that. And how would Ste explain to her that Brendan had sent him away out of an unjustified sense of jealousy and possessiveness? Amy would go mad. And then how would Ste explain to her that he was safe here with Brendan? If not, a little claustrophobic and concerned about his lovers state of mind.

He cast a look over to Brendan now. He was hunched over his work. He had even more paperwork to do now, since he hadn't actually been to the club for days. He was supposed to start back two days ago, but for some reason he hadn't wanted to leave Ste alone – not even with Cheryl. At first the sentiment had warmed Ste to his very core. But now it made him a little uneasy. Unsettled. He was feeling a heavy pressure in the room… a disturbing sense of imprisonment that he didn't like to stew on. He knew Brendan genuinely wanted to do the best for him, and that was amazing… but he also caught that look in Brendan's eye sometimes… a sort of wild desperation that made Ste nervous.

He didn't know how he could explain any of that to Amy; didn't know if he wanted to. He didn't know how he could address it to Brendan, or if he ever should. He didn't know if he could even admit it to himself.

Things were going too well with Brendan to worry about that sort of thing. Maybe it was all in his head… maybe it was these circumstances putting him on edge. Ste reached into his pocket, bought out three of the blue pills, and threw them all back into his mouth. He was discreet about it, so Brendan didn't see. He was taking too many pills a day, he knew that, but so long as they helped what did it really matter?

He took a long breath, feeling the pills calm him and the blood start to slow around his body. He had been overreacting, hadn't he? As usual.

He pulled himself up and crossed the room to where Brendan was, and wrapped his arms tenderly around him, linking his hands at Brendan's chest, pressing his nose lightly into the back of Brendan's head.

"Oh." Brendan muttered dryly. "Are we friends again, then?"

"Mm-hm."

"Makes a nice change."

Ste couldn't tell whether the sulky edge to Brendan's voice was there for humour purposes, or whether it was genuine. Still, it made him smile either way.

"Bren?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Lets go out."

For the first time, Brendan stopped his work. He put his pen down carefully on the table and let the silence drag on for a moment or two as he stewed over Stephen's words.

"You sure about that?"

"Amy keeps naggin' me to leave the house. Probably should go somewhere… jus' to shut her up."

"Stephen, ye can't let Amy force ye to do anythin' you don't want to do."

"It's alright. If we go together."

"You're not ready."

"Well we don't know do we, till we try?" Ste said with a grin, and moved himself round to Brendan's front at last so he could make eye-contact.

Only to find that Brendan wasn't smiling… at all.

In fact he looked furious.

"What's up?" Ste asked quietly.

"What else has Amy been sayin' about me?"

Ste frowned. "About you? Nothin'."

"Yeah right."

"What? She hasn't. I told her you've been dead good."

"So why all the harassing then?"

"Cos that's what Amy's like!" Ste sighed, exasperated. "She's me mate, ain't she? She's thinks it's her right to pester us."

He caught the flash of annoyance that crossed Brendan's eye; the millisecond of defensive anger that was reminiscent of the early days, when Amy knew their secret. Ste didn't like that look. Never did.

"I mean, me." He corrected himself quickly. "She's allowed to pester me."

Still, Brendan didn't seem happy. Ste would have given anything in that moment for Brendan to flash him a smile, to takes Ste's hand from where it sat comfortably on Brendan's shoulder and to squeeze it. But he didn't. Instead he felt tense under Ste's touch. Irritated. Shit. He should never have said anything.

"Look, I'm sorry." Ste muttered. "Forget I said anything. We'll stay here."

"We'll do whatever you want, Stephen." Brendan sighed. But it didn't sound as sweet a sentiment that Ste might have liked it to. To him it sounded underlined with annoyance and exhaustion. Christ, was Brendan tiring of him already? Was he being too needy? He was, wasn't he? What was he thinking? Brendan was working; he couldn't just drop everything at the click of Ste's stupid fingers.

"No, it's fine." Ste insisted immediately. "I wanna stay here. You carry on."

"I'm done." Brendan said abruptly. He sighed and slammed the paperwork hard down onto the table. "I'm all yours."

But Ste felt ashamed now, and foolish. He didn't want to be like this; behaving like a little kid in need of constant attention. He stood awkwardly in front of Brendan, eyes down on the ground.

"Hey… What's up?" Brendans voice had adopted a softer tone again… the same one that Ste had become more accustomed to of late, and had grown to expect.

And then Brendan's fingers were resting lightly on Ste's chin, as he tilted Ste's head to meet his eye-line. His fiercely blue eyes, which right now shone at Ste with concern and a deep irresistible intensity. God, Ste loved those eyes. They did crazy things to him.

He allowed himself a tiny smile. "What shall we do then? Instead of going out?"

"Hm." Brendan smiled back. At last. "I can think of a fair few things."

He pulled Stephen against him so they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach, groin to groin. And he felt Stephen harden immediately at the contact. It was an immediate reaction he could get from him… one that he relished in.

"I'll text Amy." Ste muttered croakily, "Tell 'er not to bother tonight."

"You do that."

"An' I'll meet you in the bedroom." He added, with the impish grin he always wore when discussing something he considered mildly 'crude'.

"I'll make sure of it." Brendan growled.

And with that Ste retreated back to the sofa, texted a few dismissive words to Amy about being 'busy', and the idea of leaving the flat was once again forgotten.

XOXOXOXOXX

Brendan could hardly sleep that night. He would drift off and would feel the beginnings of dreams coming along, and then all at once he'd be back in consciousness, his heart hammering and head throbbing as he tried to work out what it was that was stirring him out of his bliss.

On another night he might have blamed Stephen, and the fact that his head was pushing uncomfortably into Brendan's collar-bone… but he knew that wasn't the case. He'd gotten used to Stephen falling asleep in this position by now, and it had not been so much of a problem before.

He rest his nose against the top of Stephens head and forced his eyes closed again, listening to the repetitive sounds of the clock and of Stephens breathing to pull him back into a rhythmic dreamland.

… only to wake again twenty minutes later in a cold hard sweat.

And this time he could identify why.

Visions clouded and screamed through his head; a man shouting… a wrinkled hand squeezing into a tightened fist… Stephen's head hitting the ground… a hospital monitor… a damp wall… a sharp rope… a bitter laugh… _queer _… Stephen... his head wrapped in bandages and chest covered in blood and bruises… Stephen gasping, barely breathing, turning away from Brendan and rejecting his help… an old man choking… feet lifting from the floor…

Brendan grabbed hold of the clock from the side. It was slightly dented at the side from where Stephen had slammed it down so furiously just hours before.

4:42am.

He glanced at Stephen now, but he was still wrapped in a tender sleep; undisturbed by Brendans trembling body. And Christ, he really was trembling as well. His naked flesh felt freezing but was covered in a vicious sweat.

Shit.

He pulled himself out of bed immediately, grabbing at his trousers as the images from his nightmare screamed through his head. Shit, shit, shit. How could he be so fucking stupid?

"Bren?"

Shit.

Stephen's tired mumble sounded muffled from beneath the mass of duvet that covered him. But his face peered round, eyeing Brendan with concern.

"What are you doin'?"

"Just gotta go out for a while. Work."

"Work? It's the middle of the night."

"I know." Brendan muttered, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. Christ, he'd really dropped the ball hadn't he? How had he allowed himself to become so off-guard? "I got some un-finished business I forgot. It's got to be done before tomorrow."

"So you're goin' out?"

"That's what I SAID didn't I?" Brendan snapped.

Stephen silenced immediately. Brendan was freaking Stephen out; he could tell. SHIT.

"Look," he sighed, trying to keep his voice even and keep his hands from shaking as he pulled a shirt over his head. "It's just some business deals. I completely forgot them."

"Okay."

But Stephen didn't sound convinced. His voice was small and unsure. Was he scared? Brendan didn't want to scare him… that's why he GOT into this mess in the first place…

"Don't worry." He breathed, "I'll be back. I won't be long."

"I said okay."

"Don't wait up for me." Brendan muttered, seizing his keys and his phone from the side.

"Alright."

"I won't be long…"

"Brendan, you said that."

Brendan turned back to look at Stephen. He was sat up now, his eyes glimmering in the darkness with worry and suspicion and fear. But Brendan didn't have time to stay any longer and console him. In fact he hardly had time at all…. Without looking back, he ran from the house and towards his car…

He ran to deal with something he should have dealt with long before now…

**XOXOXOXOX**

**Really hope this chapter isn't too ambiguous. All will become clear. **


	19. Chapter 19

**A lot of swearing in this chapter, sorry. And just… sorry in general; this one ain't as fluffy as the last couple of one-shots I'm afraid. **

**XOXOXOX**

As a kid, Brendan and his father had never been close. Mr Brady had always been harsh, stern, pressurising. Brutal, manipulative and violent when the occasion called for it. And yet he was sickly sweet and perfectly charming as well… also when the occasion called for it. He was a master of luring people into a false sense of security, manipulating them to be in his control, to eat out of his palm… and then he'd crush them. Eternally merciless.

Brendan would always remember him as being huge – towering over everybody. He would always remember him as being immaculately dressed, well-groomed, giving the air of constant perfection and poise. He always had the power. He was always in control. All he'd have to do was fix people with a stare and they would be at his mercy; fearful and giving of anything.

Mr Brady now was nothing like the one in Brendan's memory.

Mr Brady ceased to be that merciless, overpowering top-dog the day he lay his fingers on Stephen Hay.

Now he was nothing. He was nobody. To the public, he was a man who'd been missing for three weeks – an enigma, a mystery. People assumed he'd been caught up in some dodgy deal and legged it, and assumed it so quickly that barely anybody bothered looking for him.

Only Brendan Brady knew this to be untrue.

And now as he stood staring down at his father, he felt nothing but contempt and pity for the man. The man Brendan remembered as being so strong was now weak, and weak was an understatement. He gulped down the water Brendan gave him with rasped desperation, not even pausing to shoot Brendan his usual furious glare. He'd been left two days like this – thirsty and starving – all because Brendan had gotten too cosy and too wrapped up in domestic bliss with Stephen… he'd almost forgotten about this secret he was harbouring. He'd almost completely forgotten his plan, until that nightmare stirred him a sharp reminder.

"Only a couple more days, Da." He said emotionlessly, "Only a couple more days."

XOXOXOXOX

Ste climbed carefully out of bed. It had been 20 minutes since Brendan had run off, and Ste couldn't shake away the memory of Brendan's wide wild eyes… his trembling hands… his frustration and desperation as he climbed back into his clothes. Brendan had run from the place as though it were a matter of life and death… with no explanation whatsoever.

The bedroom felt ghostly still now… the calm after the apparent storm that had clearly erupted in Brendan's mind. He'd even left his phone behind; it lay abandoned and unused on the bedside table.

With limited help from his finger-muscles, Ste awkwardly fumbled inside his jean pocket for the blue pills, and necked two of them back, hoping that they would calm him slightly. He wanted to believe that he was reading too much into things… maybe Brendan was telling the truth; maybe he _had _gone to work… at 5:00am. But Ste's heart was hammering with nerves and nausea, and he just _knew _something was wrong. He knew it.

And that same old feeling of uneasy claustrophobia was creeping back into his gut; like he was trapped in this house… the house he hadn't left for weeks. And distant reservations he'd tried to suppress were coming back to him too. He'd been so wrapped up with his love for Brendan that he'd tried to forget about Brendan's dodgy dealings, his rocky past, unstable mindset, his tendency for violence and evident thirst for revenge. He'd tried to ignore the sudden disappearance of Brendan's father, because he so wanted to feel safe with Brendan that he hadn't dared to doubt him.

But these thoughts were beginning to haunt him… as if from nowhere. As if Mr Brady's ghost was in the room with him now, poisoning his mind, corrupting his safe haven inside Brendan's arms.

No… he couldn't think like that.

He was just being silly… over-dramatic.

He should go back to sleep. When he woke up, Brendan would be back and they could pretend this whole stupid thing had never happened.

But the part of Ste that wanted to ignore this was being overpowered by the part of him that wanted to _sort _it. He was already unconsciously dressing himself; struggling slowly into some trousers, and then pulling one of Brendan's abandoned jumpers over himself.

He didn't know where he was going to go. He didn't remember anywhere very well… it was all so vague, and this house had become so familiar and safe that the idea of leaving it made him feel sick to the core.

But even so, he soon found himself pulling open the front door. He was quiet, so as not to wake Cheryl and Lynsey, and bravely pulled it shut behind him. There. He had no keys… he wouldn't be able to get back in now. He'd have to find Brendan first. No choice but to step out alone. No choice but to follow this through.

He took a deep breath, and walked down the steps for the second time that week. He reached the bottom… and looked around at the dark, hazy surroundings. At this point last time, he'd chickened and he'd run back to Brendan. But he couldn't do that now.

_Chez Chez. _If Brendan was at 'work', then that's where he'd be… so all he needed to do was find _Chez Chez. _And it couldn't be too hard to find a nightclub, could it? Ste was sure he could vaguely remember the bright pink sign as well – distinctive and eye-catching… he should find it no problem.

He made a decision, turned right, and started walking.

XOXOXOXOX

By 5:34am Brendan was in his car, driving at the speed of light to get back home and back to bed and make it up to Stephen. He couldn't shake off Stephens' fearful expression; the one Brendan hadn't ever wanted to provoke in him ever again. He'd get home… make up some lie that would somehow explain his erratic behaviour… and everything would be alright. They'd go back to how they were… tight and passionate and secluded inside the haven together… things running smoothly and perfectly… Stephen being all his…

But Stephen wasn't there.

Brendan felt his whole stomach sink in horror and distress as he stared into their empty double bed… the covers tossed about, and clothes picked up off the floor.

"Stephen?" He called out uncertainly. And then when his words were met with silence, he shouted a little louder so that he could be heard from upstairs too, "STEPHEN?"

Nothing.

His stomach was in knots. His chest felt tight with panic… panic he didn't think he had in him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. No… this wasn't part of the plan. The plan was for Stephen to be _here, _here with _him, always. _Safe and kept away from everyone and everything else. How could he leave? He didn't even know anywhere!

The stupid fucker. Was this a fucking game to him? Was he testing Brendan's nerve? His patience? His loyalty, trustworthiness, devotion? WHAT?

He seized his mobile and rang Stephen instantly.

He listened with fierce impatience as it rang… and rang… and rang…

"_Hiyaaa_!" Called the unashamedly loud and chirpy voice on the other end, "_This is Ste! I'm not here at the minute, but gimme a message and I'll ring ya back!" _

"FUCK!" Brendan screamed, and threw his phone hard against the other side of the bedroom, watching as it cracked and smashed into a million pieces over the floor.

"Br…Brendan?" Cheryl's tentative voice sounded from behind Brendan's shoulder as she cautiously tiptoed into the bedroom, "What's the matter love?"

"Where is he?"

"I… I don't… what are you…"

"Stephen! He's fucking GONE, Cheryl!"

Cheryl's mouth opened wide. "Well I don't know whe… Why? Have you had a row or something?"

"NO! He was here, I went out, and now he's fucked off!"

"Well maybe he's gone to Amy's or…"

"He doesn't know the way!"

"Well he's a big boy Brendan; maybe he decided to…"

"FUCK!" Brendan screamed again, slamming his fist hard against the door-frame.

"Brendan, calm down."

"No, SHUT UP Chez; I need to think."

"He probably just needed some space! He's been locked inside far too lo…"

"I said shut up!" Brendan was seething; his shoulders rising and falling in stress and fury and panic. And he regretted smashing his phone up now. What a fucking mess.

"You stay here and wait for him." He muttered, heading back towards the front door, "And call him, will ye? I'm gonna look for him."

"Brendan, are you sure that's a good ide…"

SLAM. Cheryl stared at the closed front door, her expression etched with worry. If Ste really had taken off because Brendan was being too full-on, he was hardly going to appreciate Brendan turning up shouting the odds, was he?

But there was nothing she could do about that now.

She typed Ste's number into her phone and held it up to her ear. It rung for a while before, _"Hiyaaaa! This is Ste! I'm not here at the minute, but gimme a message and I'll ring ya back!" _

"Ste…" she said shakily into the answer-phone, "I think it's probably best you come back here, love. As soon as you can."

XOXOXOXOXOX

Chez Chez. Ste looked up at the nightclub. He'd finally found it, after half an hour of walking around aimlessly and vaguely recognising certain landmarks, and FORCING his brain-cells to pull together and _think. _And now here he was. And boy, did he remember it well. The whole place oozed a comfortable familiarity… but also a tense atmosphere seemed to hover around it. So much had happened here. So much good and so much bad, it was hard to stomach exactly what his feelings were about the place – especially in his current state of mind.

Still, he persevered. The sooner he got inside, the better; he'd hated wandering around on his own. The logical side of him had told him to remain calm, but the rest of his body had trembled in irrational fear regardless, and his breath had hitched up and he'd pre-empted another panic attack… thank God for the blue pills he continued to swallow until he made it here.

He tried to push the big double doors open… but they were locked.

He knocked heavily on the door.

"Brendan!" He called through. "Brendan, you in there?"

_Come on, please. I need you. _

The longer the silence dragged on, the more uneasy he felt. He could imagine people watching him… eyes fixed on him from behind, about to pounce at any moment.

He knocked harder. More frantically.

"Bren! It's me! Let me in, it's freezin' out here!"

_It's dark out here. It's scary out here. Take me home. _

"BRENDAN!"

…Nothing.

So either Brendan hadn't gone to work after all, or he was ignoring Ste's increasingly nervous-sounding pleas. Depressingly, both of those options seemed potentially feasible. Ste hit the door, hard, and sunk down to the floor, his back against the door and knees pulled up to his chest.

Shit. Why had he even bothered? Would he remember the way back? Everything was so vague. What had he been thinking, coming here? Brendan clearly had business of some sort to deal with, even if it wasn't the conventional kind, so what had possessed Ste to FOLLOW him? Under any circumstances, that was a pointless idea. And then he heard it…

"Steven!"

Ste blinked, lifting his head, looking down over the balcony to see where the voice was coming from.

"STEVEN!"

Brendan was running towards him. Literally RUNNING… his expression wild, his movement fast and determined.

Ste slowly stumbled back to his feet, but before he could properly balance, Brendan had seized him hard by the arm, his fist clenching with manic frustration around Ste's slim build.

"Ouch..!"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brendan screamed, "What, I go for half an hour and you FUCK OFF and fucking LEAVE? Is that how this is gonna be?"

"I didn't… I wasn't leaving, I just…" Ste struggled to think of words; so overwhelmed he was by the suddenness of Brendan's furious arrival.

"I fuck around doing everything for you and you shove it all back in my fucking face?"

"I was jus' lookin' for…"

"Next time you try and leave I'll break your fuckin' legs off Stephen, ye hear me?"

Ste felt his heart hammering hard in his chest, his head spinning with confusion. And the pain of Brendan's grip on him suddenly scorched through his body… no longer numb, but alert with an immediate fear. Why was Brendan _saying _these things? Why was he acting like this? Ste tried to break free from him, but Brendan's grip only tightened; Ste's resistance only making him angrier and more frantic.

Brendan was losing him. He knew it. He knew it was only a matter of time before Ste realised what a maniac he was and tried to take off, but he hadn't expected it to be this soon. Brendan wasn't ready for it to be this soon. He needed Stephen safe and at home with him, always with him, never with anyone else or anywhere else but where Brendan wanted him. Brendan had done everything for him. He'd gone to God awful lengths for him. He refused to let Stephen do this. No. Fuck that.

"Brendan GET OFF!" Ste screamed, and his voice came out loud and cracked with something verging on a fearful hysteria.

Not that Brendan noticed. Instead he only tightened his grip even more and started tugging Ste back down the stairs, with every intention of taking Ste home and locking him away, safe… home… alone… where nobody else could touch him. His head was filled with white noise, his eyes filled with red as he continued to heave Stephen along beside him; Ste's protests falling on death ears.

"You're HURTIN' ME!" Ste yelled, fury joining his fear. "Brendan for God… FUCK OFF! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"

He pulled away. Perhaps it was the abruptness that jolted Brendan from his daze… or perhaps it was the shriek in his tone. Either way, he broke free, pulling his swelling arm from Brendan's clutches.

He stepped back in horror. He looked at Brendan, wide-eyed, afraid, disappointed… hardly daring to breathe.

Brendan blinked. Realisation overcoming him.

The whole world seemed to still around them; weighed down by the magnitude of their emotions.

"S…Stephen…" Brendan croaked; quiet, still… staring into the tearful face of his younger lover.

"No, don't talk to me."

Ste turned on his heel and headed off in the opposite direction, Brendan's words looping in his head; haunting him. _I'll break your fucking legs off, I'll break your fucking legs off, I'll break your fucking legs off._

"Stephen! Wait! Please!"

"Shit…shit…shit…" Ste chanted under his breath, trance-like, his eyes clenching shut in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. He tried to breathe; tried to regain control. He just needed to get away. He continued walking fast, not turning back.

"Stephen, STOP!"

"Get off!" Ste snapped, pulling his arm once again from Brendan's reach.

"I'm sorry!"

Sorry. It was a rare thing to ever hear Brendan say sorry. But Ste could barely take notice of this, let alone evaluate the sincerity of it.

"Stephen, fuck sake, PLEASE!"

"Get lost. Go away."

"Look, I overreacted alright? I fucked up! I just… I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean it, I was just fucking worried…"

"WHY?" Ste spun around. He stared into the pleading blue eyes of his lover. Or ex-lover as it now seemed to him. His ex-abuser.

"I…" Brendan stammered, trying to keep a steady head, "I worry about you! Is that so fucking bad?"

"What, so much you'll BREAK MY LEGS?"

"Oh c'mon! I didn't mean that, of course not!"

"But _I don't know that." _Ste stressed miserably. "I don't know that, Brendan."

There was a silence. They were both still, both staring, both drowning in the meaning behind that statement.

Brendan swallowed. "Ye think after everything that I'd hurt you again? I'm not gonna hurt ye, Stephen, I just wanna protect ye… I'm doin' everything I can to protect ye. That's all I want."

"You're actin' weird… Brendan." Ste whispered, "You're scarin' me."

"No, no, I'm just lookin' out for ye, that's all."

Brendan moved forward, his hands attaching themselves to either side of Ste's face, seeking eye-contact, DESPERATE to make him understand.

But to Ste, all he could see were manic eyes and a crazed, almost demented expression.

"I don't think you're well." He croaked shakily.

"Course I am, what do ye take me for?" Brendan laughed, trying to make light of a situation that was anything but. Even his laugh sounded deranged. Ste took an uneasy step backwards.

"Brendan… I think…"

"Let me make this up to ye, Stephen. Let me explain. Come home and let me explain."

"I don't think I can…"

"Yeah, c'mon this is stupid."

"No, Brendan please, I'm jus' gonna go to Amy's okay? Just tonight. We can talk tomorrow…"

Ste turned and started to walk away again, half of him aching to stay with Brendan but the other half desperate to get away. It was this tear between head and heart that caused him to stop as soon as Brendan demanded it.

"Please Stephen." He croaked shakily. "I've got something to show you first. You need to see something… before I let you go."


End file.
